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FROM    THE    LIBRARY   OF 


REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 


THE    LIBRARY   OF 


PRINCETON    THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


I 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/newsOOhart 


THE 


SJHW  ^©ss© 


APR  27 1935 


1'AINIXG   A  CHOICE  COLLECTION  OF 

I  II  ' 

Popular    Song's, 

Glees,  Choruses,  Extravaganzas,  &c. 

MANY  OF  WHICH  HATE  NEVER  BEFORE  BEEN 
PUBLISHED. 


WITH  TWELVE  PLATES. 


Sing,  maiden,  sing, 

Mouths  were  made  for  singing  ; 
Listen.  Songs  thou  "It  hear 

Through  the  wide  world  ringing 


HARTFORD: 
S.    ANDRUS  AND  SON. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835,  bjr 

EZRA    STRONG, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


boston  : 

Stereotyped  by  Shepard,  Oliver  k  Ca 

3  Water  Street. 


PREFACE. 


The  garbage  that  has  been  thrust  upon 
the  public  in  the  shape,  and  under  the 
name  of  Song  Books,  renders  it  almost  a 
hopeless  task  to  obtain  a  favorable  recep- 
tion, at  first,  for  a  new  compilation  of  Songs. 
The  compiler  of  the  following  pages, 
however,  flatters  himself  that  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  producing  a  work  free  from 
general  objections  on  the  score  of  morbid 
and  vicious  taste,  even  if  he  cannot  claim 
for  it  real  and  substantial  merit.  It  has 
been  his  earnest  endeavor  to  keep  the 
New  Song  Book  free  from  any  and  every 
thing  which  could  in  the  least  gratify  de- 
pravity of  heart,  or  offend  the  most  fastidi- 
ous feelings.  How  far  he  has  succeeded, 
the  reader  must  judge. 

He  who  said,  "  Let  me  make  the  Songs 

of  a  country,  and  I  care  not  who  make 

its  laws,"  evinced  his  knowledge  of  the 

human  heart,  when  swayed  by  a  combi- 

1* 


VI  PREFACE. 

nation  of  melody  and  sentiment.  Patri- 
otic songs  are  peculiarly  calculated  to 
keep  alive  that  ardent  love  of  country 
which,  in  the  hearts  of  the  young  particu- 
larly, must  be  cherished  in  order  to  per- 
petuate its  prosperity  and  glory  :  and  the 
compiler  has  endeavored  to  throw  into  the 
following  pages  as  many  of  that  descrip- 
tion as  he  possibly  could,  and  still  retain 
a  pleasing  variety  of  matter. 

Without  further  remark,  he  submits  the 
work  to  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  be- 
guiling the  monotony  of  life  with  the  gay- 
ety  of  song. 


THE 

NEW   SONG   BOOK. 


The  Sea. — By  Barry  Cornwall. 

The  sea  !  the  sea  !  the  open  sea ! 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  ! 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 
Jt  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round; 
It   plays   with   the  clouds;  it  mocks  the 
Or  like  a^cradled  creature  lies.       [skies ; 

I  'm  on  the  sea !  I  'm  on  the  sea ! 

I  i:m  where  I  would  ever  be ; 

With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below, 

And  silence  wheresoe'r  I  go  ; 

If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the 

deep, 
What  matter  ?  7  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love,  oh  !  how  I  love  to  ride 
On  the  fierce,  foaming,  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tune, 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  sou'-west  blasts  do  blow. 


8  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull  tame  shore, 
But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more, 
And  backwards  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest ; 
And  a  mother  she  was,  and  is  to  me ; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea ! 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  morn, 
In  the  noisy  hour  when  I  was  born  ; 
And  the  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise 

rolled, 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  backs  of 

gold; 
And  never  wras  heard  such  an  outcry  wild, 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  ocean-child  ! 

I  Ve  lived  since  then,  in  calm  and  strife, 

Full  fifty  summers  a  sailor's  life, 

With  wealth  to  spend  and  a  power   to 

range, 
But   never  have  sought,  nor  sighed  for 

change  ; 
And  Death,  whenever  he  come  to  me, 
Shall  come  on  the  wild  unbounded  sea ! 


The  Mellow  Horn.— By  T.  W.  Hyatt,  Esq. 

At  dawn  Aurora  gaily  breaks, 

In  all  her  proud  attire, 
Majestic  o'er  the  glassy  lakes 

Reflecting  liquid  fire  ; 
All  nature  smiles  to  usher  in 

The  blushing  queen  of  morn, 
And  huntsmen  with  the  day  begin 

To  wind  the  mellow  horn. 


THE  NEW  torn  BOOK.  9 

At  eve,  when  gloomy  shades  obscure 

The  tranquil  shepherd's  cot, 
When  tinkling  bells  are  heard  no  more, 

And  daily  toil  forgot  ; 
'T  is  then  the  sweet  enchanting  note, 

On  zephyrs  gently  borne, 
With  witching  cadence  seems  to  float 

Around  the  mellow  horn. 


Oft  in  the  stilly  Night.-  -Adapted  to  music. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chain  had  bound  m«, 
Fond  memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears  of  boyhood's  years, 

The  words  of  love  then  spoken, 
Tn?  eyes  that  shone,  now  dimmed  and 
gone, 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  &c. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  linked  together, 
I  've  seen  around  me  fall, 

Like  leaves  in  winter  weather, 
I  feel  like  one  who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet  hall  deserted, 
Whose   lights  are  fled,  whose  garland 's 
dead, 
And  all  but  me  departed. 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  &c. 


10  THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK. 

O,  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  Boat. 

By  Joanna  Bailey. 

O,  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  boat, 

Just  parted  from  the  shore; 
And  to  the  fisher's  chorus  note, 

Soft  moves  the  dipping  oar : 
These  toils  are  borne  with  happy  cheer, 

And  ever  may  they  speed  ; 
That  feeble  age  and  helpmate  dear, 

And  tender  bairnies  feed. 

We  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay, 

Our  nets  are  floating  wide ; 
Our  bonny  boat,  with  yielding  sway, 

Rocks  lightly  on  the  tide  ; 
And  happy  prove  our  daily  lot 

Upon  the  summer  sea  ; 
And  blest  on  land  our  kindly  cot, 

Where  all  our  treasures  be. 

The  mermaid  on  her  rock  may  sing, 

The  witch  may  weave  her  charm, 
No  water  sprite,  nor  eldrick  thing, 

The  bonny  boat  can  harm  : 
It  safely  bears  its  scaly  store, 

Through  many  a  stormy  gale ; 
While  joyful  shouts  rise  from  the  shore 

Its  homeward  prow  to  hail. 

We  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay,  &c. 

Now  safe  arrived,  on  shore  we  meet 
Our  friends  with  happy  cheer  ; 

And  with  the  fisher's  chorus  greet 
All  those  we  hold  most  dear: 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  1  1 

With  happy  cheer,  the  echoing  cove 

Repeats  the  chanted  note, 
As  homeward  to  our  cot  we  move 

Our  bonny,  bonny  boat. 

V\  3  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay,  &c. 


IM  be  a  Butterfly. 

I  'd  be  a  butterfly,  born  in  a  bower, 

Where    roses,   and    lilies,   and   violets 
meet ; 
Roving  forever  from  flower  to  flower, 
And  kissing  all   buds  that  are  pretty 
and  sweet. 
I  'd  never  languish  for  wealth  or  for  power, 
I  'd  never  sigh  to  see  slaves  at  my  feet ; 
I  'd  be  a  butterfly,  born  in  a  bower, 

Kissing  all  buds   that   are   pretty  and 
sweet, 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  I  'd  be  i  butterfly, 
Kissing  all   buds    that  are  pretty  and 
sweet. 

Oh,  could  I  pilfer  the  wand  of  a  fairy, 

I  'd  have  a  pair  of  those  beautiful  wings ; 
Their  summer   day's  ramble   is   sportive 
and  airy, 
They  sleep  in  a  rose  when  the  nightin- 
gale sin. 
Those  who  have  wealth  must  be  watchful 
and  wary. 
Power, alas  !  i  misery  brings; 

I  'd  be  a  butterfly,  sportive  and  airy, 


12  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Rocked  in  a  rose  when  the  nightingale 
sings, 
I  'd  be  a  butterfly,  I'd  be  a  butterfly, 
Rocked  in  a  rose  when  the  nightingale 

sings. 

What,  though  you  tell  me  each  gay  little 
rover 
Shrinks  from   the  breath  of  the   first 
autumn  day ; 
Surely  't  is  better  when  summer  is  over, 
To  die,  when  all  fair  things  are  fading 
away ; 
Some  in  life's  winter  may  toil  to  discover 

Means  of  procuring  a  weary  delay. 
I  'd  be  a  butterfly,  living  a  rover, 

Dying   when    fair    things    are    fading 
away, 
1  'd  be  a  butterfly,  I  'd  be  a  butterfly, 
Dying   when    fair    things    are    fading 
away. 


March  to  the  Battle  Field, 

March  to  the  battle  field, 

The  foe  is  now  before  us  ; 
Each  heart  is  freedom's  shield, 
And  Heaven  is  smiling  o'er  us. 
The  woes  and  pains, 
The  galling  chains, 
That  keep  our  spirits  under, 
In  proud  disdain 
We  Ve  broke  again, 
And  tore  each  link  asunder. 
March  to  the,  <fec. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  13 

Who,  for  his  country  brave, 

Would  fly  from  her  invader  ? 
Who,  his  base  life  to  save, 

Would,  traitor-like,  degrade  her  ? 
Our  hallowed  cause, 
Our  home  and  laws, 
Gainst  tyrant  power  sustaining. 
We  '11  gain  a  crown 
Of  bright  renown, 
Or  die,  our  rights  maintaining  ! 
March  to  the,  &c. 


The  Pirate  Lover. — By  J.  G.  Percival. 

Thou  art  gone  from  thy  lover, 

Thou  lord  of  the  sea  ! 
The  illusion  is  over 

That  bound  me  to  thee  : 
I  cannot  regret  thee, 

Though  dearest  thou  wert, 
Nor  can  I  forget  thee, 

Thou  lord  of  my  heart. 

I  loved  thee  too  deeply 

To  hate  thee  and  live  ; 
I  am  blind  to  the  brightest 

My  country  can  give  ; 
But  I  cannot  behold  thee 

In  plunder  and  gore, 
And  thy  Minna  can  fold  th«e 

In  fondness  no  more. 

Far  over  the  billow 
Thv  black  vessel  rides; 
2 


14  THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK. 

The  wave  is  thy  pillow, 
Thy  pathway  the  tides  ; 

Thy  cannons  are  pointed, 
Thy  red  flag  on  high, 

Thy  crew  are  undaunted, 
But  yet  thou  must  die. 

I  thought  thou  wert  brave, 

As  the  sea-kings  of  old  ; 
But  thy  heart  is  a  slave 

And  a  victim  to  gold  : 
My  faith  can  be  plighted 

To  none  but  the  free ; 
Thy  low  heart  has  blighted 

My  fond  hopes  in  thee. 

I  will  not  upbraid  thee  ; 

I  leave  thee  to  bear 
The  shame  thou  hast  made  thee, 

Its  danger  and  care  : 
As  thy  banner  is  streaming 

Far  over  the  sea, 
O  !  my  fond  heart  is  dreaming 

And  breaking  for  thee. 

My  heart  thou  hast  broken, 

Thou  lord  of  the  wave  ! 
Thou  hast  left  me  a  token 

To  rest  in  the  grave  : 
Though  false,  mean,  and  cruel, 

Thou  still  must  be  dear, 
And  thy  name,  like  a    ewel, 

Be  treasured  up  here. 


THE   NEW  SONG   BOOK.  15 

"Bay  of  Biscay,  O  !"-—  By  Cherry. 

Loud  roared  the  dreadful  thunder, 

The  rain  a  deluge  showers; 

The  clouds  were  sent  asunder, 

By  lightning's  vivid  powers. 

The  night  both  drear  and  dark  ; 
Our  poor  devoted  bark, 
Till  next  day, 
There  she  lay, 
*  In  the  bay  of  Biscay  0  ! 

Now  dashed  upon  the  billows, 
Our  opening  timbers  creak  ; 
Each  fears  a  watery  pillow, 
None  stops  the  dreadful  leak. 

To  climb  the  slippery  shrouds 
Each  breathless  seaman  crowd-, 
As  she  la A^. 
Till  the  day, 

In  the  bay  of  Biscay  0  ! 

At  length  the  wished  for  morrow 

Broke  through  the  hazy  sky; 
Absorbed  in  silent  sorrow. 
Each  heaved  the  bitter  sigh  ! 
The  dismal  wreck  to  view 
Struck  horror  to  the  crew, 

-he  lav, 
On  that  day, 

In  the  bay  of  Biscay  0  ! 

Her  yielding  timbers  sever, 
Her  pitchy  seams  ar^  rent ; 


16  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

When  Heaven,  all  bounteous  ever, 
Its  boundless  mercy  sent — 
A  sail  in  sight  appears, 
We  hail  her  with  three  cheers  ! 
Now  we  sail 
With  the  gale, 

From  the  bay  of  Biscay  O  ! 


Robin  Adair. — By  Braham. 

What  's  this  dull  town  to  me  ? 

Robin  's  not  near ; 
What  was  't  I  wished  to  see  ? 

What  wished  to  hear  ? 
Where  's  all  the  joy  and  mirth, 
Made  this  town  a  heaven  on  earth  ? 
Oh  !  they  're  all  fled  with  thee, 

Robin  Adair. 
What  made  th'  assembly  shine  ? 

Robin  Adair. 
What  made  the  ball  so  fine  ? 

Robin  was  there. 
What, — when  the  play  was  o'er, 
What  made  my  heart  so  sore  ? 
Oh  !  it  was  parting  with 

Robin  Adair. 
But  now  thou  'rt  cold  to  me, 

Robin  Adair. 
But  now  thou  'rt  cold  to  me, 

Robin  Adair. 
Yet  he  I  loved  so  well, 
Still  in  my  heart  shall  dwell. 
Oh  !  I  can  ne'er  forget 

Robin  Adair. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BCOK.  17 

Bonny  Doon. — By  R.  Burns. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  of  bonny  Doon, 
Hew  can  ye  bloom  sa  fresh  and  fair  ? 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
While  I  'm  so  wae  and  full  o'  care  ? 
Ye  '11  break  my  heart,  ye  little  birds, 
That  wander  through  the  flow'ring  thorn, 
Ye  mind  me  of  departed  joys, 
Departed,  never  to  return. 

Oft  have  I  roamed  by  bonny  Doon, 
To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine, 
Where  ilka  bird  sang  o'er  its  note, 
And  cheerfully  I  joined  with  mine. 
Wi'  heartsome  glee  I  pu'd  a  rose, 
A  rose  out  of  yon  thorny  tree  ; 
But  my  filse  love  has  flown  the  rose, 
And  left  the  thorn  behind  to  me. 

Ye  roses  blaw  your  bonny  blooms, 
A  nd  draw  the  wild  birds  by  the  burn  ; 
For  Luman  promised  me  a  ring, 
And  ye  maun  aid  me  should  I  mourn. 
Ah  !  na,  na,  na,  ye  need  na  mourn, 
My  een  are  dim  and  drowsy  worn ; 
Ye  bonny  birds,  ye  need  na  sing, 
For  Luman  never  can  return. 

My  Luman's  love,  in  broken  sighs, 
At  dawn  of  day  by  Doon  ye'se  hear  ; 
And  mid -day,  by  the  willow  green, 
For  him  I  'd  shed  a  silent  tear. 
Sweet  birds,  I  ken  ye  '11  pity  me, 
And  join  me  wi'  a  plaintive  sang, 
B 


18  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

While  echo  wakes,  and  joins  the  manQ 
I  make  for  him  I  lo'ed  so  lang. 


Tongo  Islands, 

As  sung  by  Mr.  Phillimore,  at  the  Warren  Theatre. 
I  sailed  from  Port  one  summer's  day, 
And  to  the  South  seas  made  my  way ; 
I  got  wrecked  in  No-bottom  bay, 
All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 
The  king  he  made  a  chief  of  me, 
They  called  him  Ro-ra-ki-ro-kee. 
We  got  as  thick  as  thick  could  be,    * 
And  every  night  drank  strong  byshee. 
Says  he,  "  Will  you  be  my  son-in-law, 
Marry  the  princess  Was-ki-taw  ?" 
Says  I,  "  Your  majesty  hold  your  jaw, 
I  will  accept  of  the  princess'  paw." 

Swango,  Tongo,  hoki  poki,  hingri  chin- 
gri,  soki  mold, 

Swango,  Tongo,  hooki  pooki. 
All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 

My  bride  was  fair,  you  may  suppose ; 
She  had  a  feather  through  her  nose, 
And  rings  she  had  upon  her  toes, 

All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 
A  match  she  'd  for  her  petticoat, 
A  dozen  scarfs  about  her  throat, 
For  she  'd  killed  many  chiefs  of  note, 
And  did  upon  a  battle  dote. 
The  wedding  all  description  flogs, 
'T  was  in  a  palace  built  of  logs  ; 
We  'd  yams  and  blubber,  and  twelve  great 
hogs, 


THE  NEW  S0N6  BOOK.  19 

And  by  way  of  great  treat  some  roasted 

"  Jogs. 
Swan  go,  Ton  go,  &c. 

We  had  at  our  wedding  scores  of  guests, 
We  Yi  nuns   and    lords,  and   monks   and 

prir 
Who  guzzled  like  so  many  beasts, 

All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 
There  was  the  mighty  Wrangolore, 
And  Bangalore,  and  Pinafore, 
And  Battledoor,  and  Shuttledoor, 
And  Bullyroar,  and  forty  more  ; 
The  king  he  drank  three  quarts  of  rum, 
Which  sewed  him  up,  so  he  was  dumb; 
We  thought  he  'd  gone  to  kingdom  come, 
Which   made   the    queen    look   precious 
glum. 

Swan  go,  Tongo,  fee. 

My  bride  was  fair  as  fair  could  be, 

And  we  lived  in  great  harmony 

Till  the  chiefs  they  jealous  grew  of  me, 

All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 
They  swore  they  ?d  cut  me  up  like  pork, 
And  eat  me  without  knife  or  fork. 

-  1  to  myself,  this  is  pretty  work, 
So  effmy  body  I  'd  better  walk. 
So  one  fine  morn,  to  show  my  wit, 
Not  being  ready  for  the  spit, 
To  cut  and  run  I  did  think  tit. 
So  instead  of  biting  they  were  bit. 

Swango,  Tongo,  S 
Once  more,  thank  Heaven,  I  'm  safe  and 
sound, 


26  THE  NEW  SOHG  BOOK. 

And  here  upon  Columbia's  ground ; 
And  never  more  may  I  be  found 

All  in  the  Tongo  islands. 
Fcr  what 's  the  use  in  being  chief, 
Where  mutton  you  can't  get,  nor  beef; 
Nor  a  can  of  grog  to  give  relief, 
To  ease  the  spirits  and  calm  the  grief. 
For  though  the  lawyers  here  we  dread, 
Who  eat  us  up  alive,  't  is  said, 
Yet  there  they  knock  you  on  the  head, 
And  swallow  you,  after  you  are  dead. 

Swan  go,  Tongo,  &c. 


Lord  Lovel  and  Nancy  Bell. 

Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate, 
A  combing  his  milk-white  steed, 
When  along  came  Lady  Nancy  Bell, 
A  wishing  her  lover  good  speed — speed — ■ 
speed, 
A  wishing  her  lover  good  speed. 

Oh,  where  are  you   going,  Lady  Nancy 

she  said, 
Oh,  where  are  you  going,  said  she  ; 
I  'm  going,  my  dear  Lady  Nancy  Bell, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see — see — see, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see. 

Oh,  when  will  you  be  back,  says  she, 
Oh,  when  will  you  be  back,  says  she. 
In  a  year  or  two,  or  three  at  the  most, 
I  '11  return  to  your  fair  body — dy-^-dy, 
I  '11  return  to  your  fair  body. 


THE  NF.W  SONG  BOOK.  21 

He  had  not  been  gone  but  a  year  and  a 

day, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see, 
When  languishing:  thoughts  came  into  his 

o  o  o 

head, 
Lady  Nancy  Bell  he  would  see — see — see, 
Lady  Nancy  Bell  he  would  see. 

He    rode,  he   rode  upon  his  milk-white 

steed, 
Till  he  came  to  London  town, 
And  tbere  he  heard  St.  Varney's  bell 
And   the   people    all    mourning  round — 

round — round, 
And  the  people  ail  mourning  round. 

Is  any  body  dead  ?  Lord  Lovel  he  said, 
Is  any  body  dead  ?  said  he  ; 
A  Lord's  daughter  is  dead,  a  Lady  replied, 
And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy — cy — cy, 
And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy. 

He  ordered  the  grave  to  be  opened  forth- 
with, 

And  the  shroud  to  be  folded  down ; 

And  there  he  kissed  her  clay-cold  lips 

Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down — down 
— down, 
Till  the  tertrs  came  trickling  down. 

Lady  Nancy  she  died  as  it  might  be  to- 
day, 

Lord  Lovel  he  died  to-morrow  ; 

And  out  of  her  bosom  there  grew  a  red 
rose, 


22  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

And  out  of  Lord  Lovel's  a  briar — riar — 
riar, 

And  out  of  Lord  Lovel's  a  briar. 

They  grew,  and  they  grew,  till  they  reach- 
ed the  church  top, 

And  there  they  could  grow  no  higher; 

And  there  they  entwined  in  a  true  lover's 
knot, 

Which  true  lovers  always  admire — rire — 

lire, 
s      Which  true  lovers  always  admire. 


Ijove  was  once  a  little  Boy. 

Love  was  once  a  little  boy, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho  ; 
Then  with  him  't  was  sweet  to  toy, 
Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho. 
He  was  then  so  innocent, 
Not,  as  now,  on  mischief  bent, 
Free  he  came,  and  harmless  went, 
Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho. 

Love  is  now  a  little  man, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho  ; 
And  a  very  saucy  one, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho ; 
He  walks  so  stiff,  and  looks  so  smart, 
As  if  he  owned  each  maiden's  heart ; 
I  wish  he  felt  his  own  keen  dart, 
Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho. 

Love  will  soon  be  growing  old, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho ; 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  23 

Half  his  life  's  already  told, 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho ; 
When  he  's  dead,  and  buried  too, 
What  shall  we  poor  maidens  do  ? 
I  'm  sure  I  cannot  tell — can  you  ? 

Heigh-ho,  heigh-ho. 


Life  let  us  Cherish. — By  Mozart. 

Life  let  us  cherish, 

While  yet  the  taper  glows, 
And  the  fresh  flow'ret 
Pluck  ere  it  close. 

Why  are  we  fond  of  toil  and  care, 
Why  choose  the  rankling  thorn    to 
And  heedless  by  the  lily  stray,   [wearu 
Which  blosson^s  in  our  way  ? 

When  clouds  obscure  the  atmosphere, 
And  forked  lightnings  rend  the  air, 
The  sun  resumes  his  silver  cast, 
And  smiles  a-down  the  west 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 

The  genial  seasons  soon  are  o'er, 
Then  let  us,  ere  we  quit  this  shore, 
Contentment  seek,  it  is  life's  rest, 
The  sunshine  of  the  breast. 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 

Away  with  every  toil  and  care, 
And  cease  the  rankling  thorn  to  wear, 
With  manful  hearts  life's  conflicts  meet, 
Till  death  sounds  the  retreat. 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 


24  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Begone,  dull  Care. 

Begone,   dull  care,  I  pray  thee  begone 

from  me  ; 
Begone,  dull  care,  thou  and  I  shall  never 
agree  ; 
Long  time  thou  hast  been  tarrying  here, 

And  fain  thou  wouldst  me  kill ; 
But,  i'  faith,  dull  care, 

Thou  never  shait  have  thy  will. 

Too  much  care  will  make  a  young  man 

look  gray ; 
And  too  much  care  will  turn  an  old  man 
into  clay ; 
My  wife  shall  dance  and  I  will  sing, 

So  merrily  pass  the  day ; 
For  I  hold  it  one  of  the  wisest  things, 
To  drive  dull  care  away. 


\ 


Bruce's  Address  to  his  Army. 

By  R.  Burns. 

m 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  ; 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  often  led : 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victory. 

Now  's  the  day,  and  now  's  the  hour ; 
See  the  front  of  battle  lower ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power- 
Chains  and  slavery. 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  will  fill  a  coward'^,  orrave  ? 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  2o 

Wha  sa<*  base  as  bo  a  slave  ? 

Lot  hi  in  turn  and  ilee  ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom':*  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand,  or  freeman  fa?, 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  ! 
By  our  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
s  But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty  's  in  every  blow  ! 
Let  us  do  or  die  ! 


Auld  Lang  Syne. — By  R.  Burns. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  min'  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  days  o'  lang  syne  ? 

Chorus — For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 
For  auld  lang  syne, 
We  '11  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine ; 
But  we  've  wandered  mony  a  weary  foo<, 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 
:} 


26  THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

We  twa-hae  paidlct  L  the  burn, 

Fra  mornin  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared, 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  here  's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere, 

And  gie  's  a  hand  o'  thine  ; 
And  we  '11  tak'  a  right  gude  wilie-waught, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  surely  you  'U  be  your  pint  stowp, 

And  surely  I  '11  be  mine  ; 
And  we  '11  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 


The  Hunters  of  Kentucky. 

As  sung  by  Mr.  Ludlow,  in  the  New  Orleans  and 
Western  Country  Theatres. 

Ye  gentlemen  and  ladies  fair, 

Who  grace  this  famous  city, 
Just  listen,  if  you  've  time  to  s]sare, 

While  I  rehearse  a  ditty ; 
And  for  an  opportunity 

Conceive  yourselves  quite  lucky, 
For  't  is  not  often  here  you  see 

A  hunter  from  Kentucky. 
Oh,  Kentucky  !  the  hunters  of  Kentucky 

The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

We  are  a  hardy,  free-born  race. 
Each  man  to  fear  a  stranger; 


THE   NEW  SONO  BOOK.  27 

Whate'er  the  game,  we  join  in  chase, 

Despising  toil  and  danger  ; 
An  I  if  a  daring  foe  annoys, 

Whate'er  his  strength  and  forces, 
We  '11  show  him  that  Kentucky  boys 

Are  '"alligator  horses." 
Oh  !  Kentucky.  &c. 

I  s'pose  you  've  read  it  in  the  prints. 

How  Packenham  attempted 
To  make  old  Hickory  Jackson  wince, 

But  soon  his  schemes  repented  ; 
For  we,  with  rifles  ready  cocked, 

Thought  such  occasions  lucky, 
And  soon  around  the  general  flocked 

The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 
Oh  !  Kentucky,  &c. 

You  've  heard,  I  s'pose,  how  New  Orleans 

Is  famed  for  wealth  and  beauty, — 
There  ?s  girls  of  every  hue,  it  seems, 

Fran  snowy  white  to  sooty. 
So  Packenham  he  made  his  brags, 

If  he  in  fight  was  lucky, 
He  'd  have  their  girls  and  cotton  bags, 

la  spite  of  old  Kentucky. 
Oh  !  Kentucky.  & 

But  Jackso  i  he  was  wide  awake, 

And  was  'nt  scared  at  trifles, 
For  well  he  knew  what  aim  we  take 

With  our  Kentucky  rifles  ; 
So  he  led  us  down  I  -  swamp ; 

The  ground  was  low  and  mucky ; 
There  stood  John  Bull  in  martial  pomp, 


28  THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

And  here  stood  old  Kentucky. 
Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

A  bank  was  raised  to  hide  our  breast ; 

Not  that  we  thought  of  dying, 
But  that  we  always  like  to  rest, 

Unless  the  game  is  flying  : 
Behind  it  stood  our  little  force — 

None  wished  it  to  be  greater, 
For  every  man  was  half  a  horse, 
-And  half  an  alligator. 
Oh  !  Kentucky,  &c. 

They  did  not  let  our  patience  tire, 

Before  they  showed  their  faces — 
We  did  not  choose  to  waste  our  fire, 

So  snugly  kept  our  places  ; 
But  when  so  near  to  see  them  wink, 

We  thought  it  time  to  stop  'em  ; 
And  'twould  have  done  you  good,  I  think 

To  see  Kentuckians  drop  'em. 
Oh  !  Kentucky,  &c. 

They  found  at  last  't  was  vain  to  fight 

Where  lead  was  all  their  booty  ; 
And  so  they  wisely  took  to  flight, 

And  left  us  all  our  beauty. 
And  now  if  danger  e'er  annoys, 

Remember  what  our  trade  is ; 
Just  send  for  us  Kentucky  boys, 

And  we  '11  protect  you,  ladies. 
Oh  !  Kentucky,  &c. 


THE   NEW  SOXG  BOOK.  29 

The  Minute  Gun  at  Sea. 

Let  him  who  sighs  in  sadness  here, 
Rejoice  and  know  a  friend  is  near; 
What  heav'nly  sounds  are  those  I  hear  ? 
What  being  comes  the  gloom  to  cheer  ? 
When,  in  the  storm  on  Albion's  coast, 
The  night-watch  guards  his  weary  post, 

From  thoughts  of  danger  free, 
He  marks  some  vessel's  dusky  fown, 
And  hears,  amid  the  howling  storm, 

The  minute  gun  at  sea. 

Swift  on  the  shore  a  hardy  few, 

The  life-boat  man,  with  a  gallant,  gallant 

And  dare  the  dang'rous  wave  ;       [crew, 
Through  the  wild  surf  they  cleave  their 

way. 
Lost  in  the  foam,  nor  know  dismay, 

For  they  go  the  crew  to  save. 
But  oh,  what  rapture  fills  each  breast 
Of  the  hapless  crew  of  the  ship  distress'd ! 
Then  landed  safe,  what  joys  to  tell 
Of  all  the  dangers  that  befell. 

Then  is  heard  no  more, 

By  the  watch  on  the  shore, 

The  minute  gun  at  sea. 


30  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 


I  could  never  Cry  for  Laughing. 

Luck  in  life,  or  good  or  bad, 

Ne'er  could  make  me  melancholy, 
Seldom  rich,  yet  never  sad, 

Sometimes  poor,  but  always  jolly. 
Fortune  in  my  scale,  that 's  poz, 

Of  mischance  put  more  than  half  in, 
Yet,  I  do'nt  know  how  it  was, 

I  could  never  cry  for  laughing. 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

I  could  never  cry  for  laughing. 

Monstmus  grave  are  men  of  law, 

^Law  knows  no  end  when  once  begin- 
ning,) 
Yet  those  dons  I  never  saw, 

But  their  wigs  would  set  me  grinning. 
Once,  when  I  was  very  ill, 

Seven  doctors  came — such  quizzes, 
Zooks  !  I  thought  they  would  me  kill, 

With  laughing  at  their  comic  phizzes. 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

With  laughing  at  their  comic  phizzes. 

After  that,  in  love  I  fell, 

(Love  creates  a  deal  of  trouble,) 
But  my  courtship — strange  to  tell, 

Only  made  my  mirth  redouble  ; 
I  laughed — she  frowned — I  laughed  again, 

Till  I  brought  her  to  her  tether  ; 
Then  she  smiled — we  wed — since  then 

We  mean  to  laugh  through  life  together. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  31 

Green  Hills  of  Tyrol.— By  G.  LinUy. 

Green  hills  of  Tyrol !  again  I  see 
The  home  of  childhood  so  dear  to  me  ; 
Again  1  press  your  verdant  shade, 
Where  oft  my  footsteps  have  wildly  stray'd. 
Once  more  I  am  near  him, 
My  own  one  !  my  fond  onp  ' 
Again  I  shall  hear  him 
Love's  accents  repeat ; 
While  to  his  sighs 
My  heart  replies, 

And  every  glance  is  soft  and  sweet. 
Green  hills  of  Tyrol  !   &c. 

From  yonder  woodlands,  sounding  clear, 
His  merry  bugle  note  I  hear  ; 
With  eye  of  hawk,  and  falchion  keen, 
He  comes  !  he  comes,  my  Tyrol  ion  ! 
Once  more  I  behold  him, 
My  dear  one  !  my  fond  one  ! 
To  my  bosom  I  '11  fold  him, 
My  own  Tyrolien  ! 

Haste  !  haste,  my  love  !  why  linger  now? 
The  sun  is  shedding  his  parting  glow; 
The  chamois  seeks  his  peaceful  glade, 
And    homeward   wanders    the    mountain 
maid. 

Oh  !  come,  then,  and  cheer  me, 
My  own  one  !  my  fond  one  ! 
Again  thou  shalt  hear  me  sing  love's  ten- 
der strain, 
While  every  note  my  lips  repeat, 
As  soft  and  sweet  thou  'It  breathe  again  ; 


32  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Then  haste,  my  love  !  why  linger  now? 

The  sun  is  shedding,  &c 
Hark,  hark,  I  hear  his  well-known  cry, 
While  answering  echo  makes  reply. 
Now,  now,  he  waves  his  scarf  of  green, 
He  comes  !  he  comes,  my  Tyrolien  ! 

Once  more  I  behold  him,  &c. 


>T  is  the  last  Rose  of  Summer, 

'T  is  the  last  rose  of  summer, 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rose-bud  is  nigh, 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh  ! 

I  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one ! 

To  pine  on  the  stem ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping, 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them ; 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  thy  bed, 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  I  follow, 

When  friendships  decay, 
And  from  love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away  ! 
When  true  hearts  lie  withered, 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
Oh  !  who  would  inhabit 

Thrs  bleak  world  alone  ? 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  33 

I  see  them  on  their  winding  Way. 

By  Hebi  r. 

I  see  them  on  their  winding  way, 

About  their  ranks  the  moonbeams  play, 

Their  lofty  deeds  and  daring  high 

Blended  with  notes  of  victory. 

And  waving  arms  and  banners  bright 

Are  glancing  in  the  mellow  light, 

They  're  lost  and  gone,  the  moon  is  past, 

The  woods'  dark  shade  is  o'er  the  east. 

And  fainter,  fainter,  fainter  still 

The  march  is  rising  o'er  the  hill. 

Again,  again,  the  pealing  drum^ 
The*  clashing  horn — they  come,  they  come ; 
Through  rocky  pass,  o'er  wooded  steep, 
In  long  and  glittering  files  they  sweep, 
And  nearer,  nearer,  yet  more  near 
Their  softened  cadence  meets  the  ear. 
Forth,  forth,  and  meet  them  on  their  way, 
The  trampling  hoofs  brook  no  delay; 
With  thrilling  fife  and  pealing  drum 
And  clashing  horn,  they  come,  they  come. 


Oh,  no !  we  never  mention  her. 

Oh,  no !  we  never  mention  her  ; 

Her  name  is  never  heard  ; 
My  lips  are  now  forbid  to  speak 

That  once  familiar  word. 
From  sport  to  sport  they  hurry  me, 

To  banish  my  regret ; 
And  when  they  win  a  smile  from  me» 

They  think  that  I  forget. 
C 


34  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

They  bid  me  seek  in  change  of  scene 
The  charms  that  ethers  see ; 

But  were  I  in  a  foreign  land, 
They  M  find  no  change  in  me. 

'T  is  true  that  I  behold  no  more 
The  valley  where  we  met ; 

I  do  not  see  the  hawthorn  tree- 
But  how  can  I  forget  ? 

They  tell  me  she  is  happy  now — 

The  gayest  of  the  gay  ; 
They  hint  that  she  forgets  me ; 
•     But  I  heed  not  what  they  say ; 
Like  me,  perhaps,  s.he  struggles  with 

Eacn  feeling  of  regret ; 
But  if  she  loves  as  I  have  loved, 

She  never  can  forget. 


Home,  eweet  Home. 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may 

roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there  's  no  place  like 

home  ; 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow 

us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er 

met  with  elsewhere. 
Home*  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 
Theie  's  no  place  like  home. 

1  ga^J  on  the  moon,  as  I  trace  the  drear 

~i!d, 
Ajzd  feel  that  my  parent  now  thinks  cf  her 

child ; 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  35 

She  looks  on  that  moon  from  our  own  cot- 
tage door, 

Through  the  woodbines  whose  fragrance 
shall  cheer  me  no  more. 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home,  &c. 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in 

vain, 
O,  give  me   my  lowly,  thatched  cottage 

again  ; 
The  birds,  singing  gaily,  that  came  at  my 

call, 
Give   me  them,  with  the  peace  of  mind 

dearer  than  all. 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home,  &c. 


Meet  3Ie  by  3IoonIight. — By  J   A    Wade, 

Meet  me  by  moonlight,  alone, 

And  then  I  will  tell  you  a  tale 
Must  be  told  by  the  moonlight  alone, 

In  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  vale  ; 
You  must  promise  to  come,  for  I  said 

I  would  show  the  night  flowers  their 
queen. 
Nay,  turn  not  away  thy  sweet  head, 

'T  is  the  loveliest  ever  was  seen. 
Oh  !  meet  me  by  moonlight,  alone. 

Daylight  may  do  for  the  gay, 

The  thoughtless,  the  heartless,  the  free  ; 
But  there  's  something  about  the  moon's 
ray, 

That  is  sweeter  to  you  and  to  me. 


36  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Oh  !  remember  be  sure  to  be  there, 
For  though  dearly  a  moonlight  I  prize., 

I  care  not  for  all  in  the  air. 

If  I  want  the  sweet  light  of  your  eyes. 

So  meet  me  by  moonlight,  alone. 


Amelia  Bird. — By  Bculer. 
Air. — "  Oh  no  !  we  never  mention  her." 

Oh  !  yes,  I  love  to  mention  her, 

I  do,  upon  my  word  ! 
I  'm  only  happy  when  I  speak 

Of  Miss  Amelia  Bird. 
It,  in  the  fields  near  Primrose-hill, 

One  summer's  day  occurred, 
I  saw  and  loved,  and  first  did  speak 

To  Miss  Amelia  Bird. 

I  asked  her  if  she  in  the  fields 

Saw  charms  that  others  see ; 
To  which  she  archly  did  reply, 

"  She  saw  no  charms  in  me." 
And  thus  the  introduction  o'er, 

All  shyness  was  absurd, 
And  soon  I  learnt  the  residence 

Of  Miss  Amelia  Bird. 

Said  she,  "  I  live  at  Hampstead  now, 

Beyond  the  Load  of  Hay  ; 
My  father  keeps  a  good  milch  cow 

And  deals  in  curds  and  whey." 
Said  she,  "  I  do  prefer  the  whey — " 

Said  I,  "  I  love  the  curd ; 
But  what  than  that  much  more  I  love 

Is  you,  Amelia  Bird." 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  37 

She  soon  confessed  a  mutual  flame. 

And  me  a  keepsake  gave  ; 
And  I  gave  her  a  handkerchief 

Which  cost  me  shillings  five  : 
A  v'irtuous  woman  's  worth  a  crown, 

As  often  I  have  heard ; 
But  worth,  I  think,  a  sovereign 

Is  Miss  Amelia  Bird. 

Although  I  'm  far  from  Hampstead  now, 

And  may  be  farther  yet, 
And  do  not  see  her  nor  the  cow, 

Yet  how  can  I  forget  ? 
But,  perhaps,  like  me,  she  may  be  here, 

And  see  me  unobserved — 
What  ecstasy  't  would  be  to  me 

To  see  Amelia  Bird. 


Hark!  the  Goddess  Diana. — A  Diut. 

Hark  !  the  goddess  Diana 

Calls  aloud  for  the  chase  ; 
Bright  Phoebus  awakens  the  morn  ; 

Rouse,  rouse  from  your  slumber, 

And  for  hunting  prepare, 
For  the  huntsman  is  winding  his  horn. 

See  !  the  hounds  are  unkennelled, 

And  all  ripe  for  the  chase, 
They  start  to  o'ertake  the  fleet  hare  ! 

All  danger  they  're  scorning, 

And  for  hunting  preparing  ; 
To  the  field  then,  brave  boys,  let  's  repair. 
4 


38 


THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK. 


Dame  Purden. — A  Glee. 

Dame  Durden  had  five  serving  maids, 

To  carry  the  milking  pail ; 
She  also  had  five  laboring  men, 
To  manage  the  spade  and  flail : 
There  was  Moll  and  Bet, 

And  Doll  and  Kate, 
And  Dorothy  with  a  pail ; 
And  Joe  and  Jack, 
And  Tom  and  Dick, 
And  Humphrey  with  his  flail ; — 
Now  Joe  kissed  Molly, 
And  Jt.ck  kissed  Betty, 
And  Tom  kissed  Dolly, 
And  Dick  kissed  Kitty, 

And  Humphrey  with  his  flail, 
And  Kitty  she  was  a  charming  girl 
To  carry  the  milking  pail. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  39 

Dame  Durien  in  the  morn  so  st>on 

She  did  begin  to  call, 
To  rouse  her  serving-men  and  maids 

Most  loudly  she  did  call. 

Come  Moll  and  Bet,  &c. 

'T  was  on  the  morn  of  Valentine 

The  birds  began  to  mate, 
Dame  Durden  and  her  men  and  maids 

They  all  began  to  prate. 

'Twas  Moll  and  Bet,  &c. 


The  Minstrel's  Return  from  the  War, 

The  minstrel 's  returned  from  the  war, 

With  spirits  as  buoyant  as  air, 
And  thus  on  his  tuneful  guitar, 

He  sung  in  the  bower  of  his  fair : 
u  The  noise  of  the  battle  is  over, 

The  bugle  no  more  calls  to  arms ; 
A  soldier  no  more — but  a  lover, 
I  bend  to  the  power  of  thy  charms. 
Sweet  lady,  fair  lady,  I  'm  thine, 
I  bend  to  the  magic  of  beauty, 
Tho'  the  banner  and  helmet  are  mine, 
Yet  love  calls  the  soldier  to  duty." 

The  minstrel  his  suit  warmly  pressed, 
She  blushed,  sighed,  and  hung  down 
her  head ; 
Till  conquered  she  fell  on  his  breast, 
And  thus  to  the  happy  youth  said : 
1  The  bugle  shall  part  us,  love,  never, 
My  bosom  thy  pillow  shall  be, 


40  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Till  death  tears  thee  from  me  forever ; 

Still  faithful,  I'll  perish  with  thee." 

Sweet  lady,  &c. 

But  fame  called  the  youth  to  the  field  ; 

His  banner  waved  high  o'er  his  head ; 
He  gave  his  guitar  for  a  shield, 

And  soon  he  lay  low  with  the  dead, 
While  she,  o'er  her  young  hero  bending, 

Received  his  expiring  adieu  : 
"  I  die  whilst  my  country  defending, 

But  I  die  to  my  lady  love  true." 
"  Oh,  death  !   (then  she  cried,)  I  am  thine, 

I  tear  off  the  roses  of  beauty  ; 
The  grave  of  my  hero  is  mine, 

For  he  died  true  to  love  and  to  duty  ! 


Away  with  Melancholy. 

Away  with  melancholyr 
Nor  doleful  changes  ring 

On  life  and  human  folly, 
But  merrily,  merrily  sing — 
Fal  la. 

Come  on,  ye  rosy  hours, 

Gay,  smiling  moments  bring ; 

We  '11  strew  the  way  with  flowers, 
And  merrily,  merrily  sing — 
Fal  la. 

Then  what 's  the  use  of  sighing, 
While  time  is  on  the  wing; 

Can  we  prevent  his  flying  ? 
Then  merrily,  merrily  sino- — 
Fal  ia. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  41 

If  griefs,  like  April  showers, 
A  moment's  sadness  bring, 

Joys  soon  succeed  like  flowers, 
Then  cheerily,  cheerily  sing — 
Fal  la. 

The  rose  its  bloom  refuses, 
If  plucked  not  in  the  spring ; 

Life  soon  its  fragrance  loses, 
Then  cheerily,  cheerily  sing — 
Fal  la. 

Fly,  fly  all  dull  emotion, 

All  care  away  we  fling ; 
Pure  joy  is  our  devotion  ; 

Then  cheerily,  cheerily  sing — 
Fal  la. 


The  bright,  bright  Shore. 

I  hear  thy  shell  resound 

The  trembling  waters  o'er, 
And  the  songs  that  swell  around 

My  own  bright  shore  ! 
The  melting  charm  I  hear, 

The  tuneful  melody. 
Thai  soothes  the  listening  ear 

In  the  chambers  of  the  sea, 
Where  the  Nereid  sisters  play, 

And,  the  envied  smile  to  reap, 
Their  wave-born  loves  array 

All  the  treasures  of  the  deep. 
But  oh  !  I  may  not  leave, 

To  roam  the  waters  o'er, 
4* 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

My  own  bright  shore, 
The  bright,  bright  shore  ! 

The  golden  hue  of  day, 

With  the  rich  and  radiant  shower 
Of  all  the  bloom  of  May, 

Here  decks  my  parent  bower  ; 
And  hope,  and  truth,  and  love, 

If  e'er  with  mortals  found, 
Thrice  bless  my  native  grove, 

And  breathe  a  heaven  around. 
Then  hither  from  the  wave, 

And  share  our  sweet ?r  store  ; 

0  hither  from  the  wave, 

And  share  our  sweeter  btore  : 

1  may  not,  cannot  leave 

The  shore,  the?  lovely  shore 
My  own  bright  shore, 
The  bright,  bright  shore  ! 


Song  of  the  Skaters, 

This  bleak  and  chilly  morning, 
"With  frost  the  trees  adorning, 
Though  Phoebus  below 
Were  all  in  a  glow, 
Through  the  sparkling  snow 
A  skating  we  go, 

With  a  fal,  la,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 

From  right  to  left  we  're  plying, 
Swifter  than  wind  we  're  flying, 
Spheres  on  spheres  surrounding, 
Health  and  strength  abounding, 


THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK.  43 

la  circles  we  swing : 
Our  poise  still  we  keep, 
Behold  how  we  sweep 
The  face  of  the  deep, 

With  a  fid,  lal,  la. 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 

Great  Jove  looks  down  with  wonder, 
To  view  his  ions  of  thunder  : 
Though  the  waters  he  seal, 
We  rove  on  our  heel, 
Our  weapons  of  steel, 
And  no  danger  we  feel, 

With  a  fal,  lal,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 

See,  see,  our  band  advances, 
See  how  they  join  in  dances, 
Horns  and  trumpets  sounding, 
Rocks  and  hills  rebounding  ; 
Let  Tritons  now  blow, 
And  call  us  their  foe, 
For  Neptune  below 
His  beard  dare  not  show, 

With  a  fal,  lal,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 


Wake  !  Lady,  wake  ! — A  Serenade. 

Wake  !  lady,  wake  !  the  midnight  moon 
Sails  through  the  cloudless  night  of  June; 
The  stars  gaze  sweetly  on  the  stream, 
Which,  in  the  brightness  of  their  beam, 
One  sheet  of  glory  lies. 


44  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

The  glow-worm  lends  its  little  light, 
And  all  that 's  beautiful  and  bright, 
Is  shining  in  this  world  to-night, 
Save  :hy  bright  eyes  ! 

Then  wake  !  lady,  wake  ! 

Wake  !  lady,  wake  !  the  nightingale 
Sings  to  the  moon  her  love-lorn  tale  ; 
Now  doth  the  brook  that 's  hushed  by  day, 
As  through  the  vale  she  winds  her  way, 

In  murmurs  soft  rejoice ; 
The    leaves    the    midnight   winds    have 

stirred 
Are  whisp'ring  many  a  gentle  word, 
And  all  earth's  sweetest  sounds  are  heard, 

Save  thy  sweet  voice  ! 

Then  wake  !  lady,  wake  ! 


>T  was  You,  Sir.— A  Catch. 

1.  'T  was  you,  sir,  'twas  you,  sir, 
I  tell  you  nothing  new,  sir, 

'T  was  you  that  kissed  the  pretty  girl ; 
'T  was  you,  sir,  you. 

2.  'T  is  true,  sir,  't  is  true,  sir, 
You  look  so  very  blue,  sir, 

1  !m  sure  you  kissed  the  pretty  girl, 
'T  is  true,  sir,  true. 

3.  Oh,  sir,  no,  sir, 

How  can  you  wrong  me  so,  sir 
I  did  not  kiss  the  pretty  girl — 
B"t  I  know  who. 


THE  NEW  BONG   BOOK.  45 


Law  !  Law !  Law ! 

Come,  list  to  me  for  a  minute, 
A  song  I  am  going  to  sing  it, 
There  's  something  serious  in  it, 

So  pray  your  attention  draw  ; 

'T  is  all  about  the  law, 

Which  has  such  a  deuce  of  a  claw. 
Experience  I  have  bought  it. 
And  now  to  you  have  brought  it — 
Will  you  or  not  be  taught  it  ? 

I  sing  the  charms  of  Law, 

L,  A.  W !  law. 

Which  has  such  a  deuce  of  a  claw. 
If  you  're  fond  of  pure  vexation, 
And  sweet  procrastination, 
You  're  just  in  a  situation 

To  enjoy  a  suit  at  law. 

When  first  your  cause  is  creeping, 
It  hinders  you  from  sleeping, 
Attornies  only  reaping, 


46  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

For  still  your  cash  they  draw ; 

D,  R,  A,  W !  draw, 

Is  the  main-spring  of  the  law. 
Misery,  toil  and  trouble 
Make  up  the  hubble-bubble, 
Leave  yon  nothing  but  stubble, 

And  make  you  a  man  of  straw  ; 

S,  T,  R,  A,  W !  straw, 

Is  all  you  get  by  the  law. 
H  you  're  fond  of  pure  vexation,  &c. 

And  when  your  cause  is  ending, 
Your  case  is  no  ways  mending, 
Expense  each  step  attending; 

And  then  they  find  a  flaw, 

And  the  judge,  like  any  jackdaw, 

Will  lay  down  what  is  law. 
In  a  rotten  stick  your  trust  is, 
You  find  the  bubble  burst  is. 
And  though  you  dont  get  justice, 

You  're  sure  to  get  plenty  of  law  : 

L,  A,  W !  law, 

Leaves  you  not  worth  a  straw. 
If  you  're  fond  of  pure  vexation,  &c. 

So  if  life  's  all  sugar  and  honey, 
And  fortune  has  always  been  sunny, 
And  you  want  to  get  rid  of  your  money, 

I  'd  advise  you  go  to  law  ; 

Like  ice  in  a  rapid  thaw, 

Your  cash  will  melt  awa. 
Comfort  't  is  folly  to  care  for, 
Life  's  a  lottery — therefore, 
Without  a  why  or  wherefore, 

I  'd  advise  you  to  go  lo  law ; 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  47 

L,  A,  W!  law, 
Does  like  a  blister  draw. 
If  you  're  fond  of  pure  vexation,  <fcc. 


Gaily  the  Troubadour, 
■nadc. —  Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 
Gaily  the  troubadour  touched  his  guitar, 
When  he  was  hastening  home  from  the 

war, 
Singing,  "From  Palestine  hither  I  come, 
Lady  love,  lady  love,  welcome  me  home." 

She  for  the  troubadour  hopelessly  wept ; 
Sadly  she  thought  of  him   when  others 

slept, 
Singing,  "  In  search  of  thee  would  I  might 

roam; 
Troubadour,    troubadour,    come    to    thy 

home.', 

Hark !   *t  was   the    troubadour    breathing 

her  name  ; 
Under  the  battlement  softly  he  came, 
Singing,  u  From  Palestine  hither  I  come, 
Lady  love,  lady,  love,  welcome  me  home." 


The  bonny  Sleigh. 
Stmg  by  G.  IV.  Dixon. — Air,  "  The  bonny  Boat" 
O  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  sleigh, 

Just  parted  from  the  door, 
With  jingling  bells  and  horses'  neigh, 

The  snow  dashed  up  before. 


48  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

This  pleasure  now,  and  happy  cheer, 

Are  much  enjoyed  indeed ; 
With  blooming  belles  to  us  so  dear, 

To  Laurel  hill  we  '11  speed. 
We  cast  our  lines  upon  the  rails, 

Where  snow  had  drifted  wide ; 
Our  bonny  sleigh,  coats,  hats  and  veils, 

Were  all  then  laid  aside  : 
Then  happy  proved  the  merry  dance 

Upon  the  mansion  floor ; 
While  wine  and  cider,  mull'd  and  warm, 

Came  in  at  every  door. 

The  skaters  on  the  ice  may  sing, 

Whilst  all  around  they  charm  ; 
But  we  prefer  the  sleigh  bells'  ring, 

When  all  wrapped  up  so  warm  : 
It  safely  bears  its  lovely  store 

Through  many  a  stormy  gale  ; 
Whilst,  joyful  shouts  from  half  a  score 

Our  merry  party  hail. 
We  cast  our  line*  upon  the  rails, 

Where  snow  had  drifted  wide ; 
Our  bonny  sleigh,  coats,  hats  and  veils, 

Were  all  then  laid  aside  : 
Then  happy  proved  the  jolly  folks, 

With  ne'er  a  sigh  nor  care  : 
We  '11  now  return  and  crack  some  jokes, 

Where  all  our  treasures  are. 

Now  near  the  city  we  are  come, 

The  lamps  I  plainly  see  : 
From  the  good  dame  we  left  at  home 

Our  welcome  warm  will  be  ; 


\>.  cook.  49 

The  well-known  shout,  and  sleigh-bells' 

Seem  echoing  in  her  ofors  :  [.ring, 

Now  come,  my  boys,  let 's  loudly  sing, 

She  '11  soon  forget  her  fears. 
We  '11  case  our  lines  upon  the  post 

That  stands  before  the  door, 
And  then  we  '11  all  our  fingers  toast, 

And  sleigh  a  little  more. 
Then  happy  prove  each  pleasant  jaunt 

Upon  the  wintry  plain  ; 
I  'in  sure  we  shall  not  sleighing  want, 

If  snow  don't  turn  to  rain. 


Blue-eyed  Mary. 
Sung  by  George  W.  Dixon. 

Come,  tell  me.  blue-eyed  stranger, 
Say,  whither  dost  thou  roam  ? 

O'er  this  wide  world  a  ranger, 
Hast  thou  no  friends  or  home  ? 

"  They  called  me  blue-eyed  Mary, 
When  friends  and  fortune  smiled 

But  ah  !  how  fortunes  vary, 
I  now  am  sorrow's  child." 

Come  here,  I  '11  buy  thy  flowers, 
And  ease  thy  hapless  lot, 

Still  wet  with  morning  showers. 
I  '11  buy  forget-me-not. 

"  Kind  sir,  then  take  these  posies, 
They're  fading  like  my  youth, 

But  never,  like  these  roses, 
Shall  wither  "Mary's  truth." 
0 


50  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Lock  up,  thou  poor  forsaken, 
I  '11  give  thee  house  and  home, 

And  if  I  'm  not  mistaken, 
Thou  'It  never  wish  to  roam. 

'  Once  more  I  'm  happy  Mary, 
Once  more  has  fortune  smiled  ; 

Who  ne'er  from  virtue  vary, 
May  yet  be  fortune's  child." 


Watchman.— By  T.  Moore. 

Good  night,  good  night,  my  dearest, 

How  fast  the  moments  fly ; 
'T  is  time  to  part,  thou  hearest 
That  hateful  watchman's  cry, 

"  Past  twelve  o'clock  !" — good  night  ! 

Yet  stay  a  moment  longer — 

Alas  !  why  is  it  so  ? — 
The  wish  to  stay  grows  stronger. 

The  more  'l  is  time  to  gn. 

"  Past  one  o'clock  !" — good  night ! 

Now  wrap  thy  cloak  about  thee  : — 
The  hours  must  sure  go  wrong, 

For  when  they  're  past  without  thee, 
They  're,  oh  !  ten  times  as  long. 
11  Past  two  o'clock  !" — good  night ! 

Age  in  that  dreadful  warning  ! 

Had  ever  time  such  flight  ? 
And  see  the  sky, — 't  is  morning— 

So  now,  indeed,  good  night ! 

"Past  three  o'clock  !" — good  night  ! 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  51 

Iley  the  bonny  Breast  Knots. 

Hey  the  bonnie,  ho  the  bonnie, 

Hey  the  bonnie  breast  knots ; 

Blithe  and  bonnie  were  they  all 

When  they  put  on  the  breast  knots. 

There  was  a  bridal  in  our  town, 

For  ilka  lass  there  was  a  loon, 

Some  wore  black  and  some  wore  brown, 

But  ilk  ane  had  a  breast  knot. 

Hey  the  bonnie,  &c. 

A  sonsie  lass  wi'  raven  hair, 
Cam'  wi'  a  knot  like  lily  fair ; 
Gart  mony  hearts  that  hour  feel  sair, 
For  ilk  ane  lo'ed  her  breast  knot. 
The  bride  a  knot  kept  tae  hersel ! 
Its  color  she  alone  could  tell, 
Wha  had  the  like  would  bear  the  bell 
And  ha'  a  jo,  and  a  breast  knot. 
Hey  the  bonnie,  &c. 

It  was  nae  black,  it  was  nae  blue, 

It  had  nae  sic  unseemly  hue ; 

But  it  was  white,  I  tell  you  true, 

A  braw  bonnie  breast  knot. 

Ane  had  the  knot  that  like  to  me, 

Inspired  all  hearts  wi'  mirth  and  glee ; 

Farewell !  kind  friends,  and  thanks  to  ye, 

That  lo'e  sae  weel  my  breast  knots. 

Hey  the  bonnie,  ho  the  bonnie, 
Hey  the  bonnie  breast  knots, 
Blithe  and  bonnie  were  they  all 
When  thev  put  on  the  breast  knots. 


52  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Marseilles  Hymn. 
Sung  by  George  W.  Dixon. 

Ye  sons  of  Freedom,  wake  to  glory  ! 

Hark  !  hark  !  what  myriads  bid  you  rise  ; 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grandsires  hoary, 

Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries. 
Shall  hateful  tyrants,  mischiefs  brooding, 

With  hireling  hosts,  a  ruffian  band, 

Affright  and  desolate  the  land, 
While  peace  and  liberty  lie  bleeding  ? 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  ye  brave  ! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath ; 
March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved, 

On  victory  or  death. 

Now,  now,  the  dangerous  storm  is  rolling, 
Which    treacherous   kings  confederate 
raise, 

The  dogs  of  war,  let  loose,  are  howling, 
And  lo  !  our  fields  and  cities  blaze. 

And  shall  we  basely  view  the  ruin, 
While  lawless  force,  with  guilty  stride, 
Spreads  desolation  far  and  wide, 

With  crimes  and  blood  his  hands  imbruing  ? 
To  arms  !  to  arms !  ye  brave,  &c. 

With  luxury  and  pride  surrounded, 

The  vile  insatiate  despots  dare, 
Their  thirst  of  power  and  gold  unbounded, 

To  mete  and  vend  the  light  and  air  ; 
Liks  beasts  of  burden  would  they  load  us, 

Like  gods  would  bid  their  slaves  adore  ; 

But  man  is  man,  and  who  is  more  ? 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  53 

Then  shall  they  longer  lash  and  goad  us  ? 
To  arms  !  to  arms  !  ye  brave,  &c. 

Oh  !  Liberty,  can  man  resign  thee, 

Once  having  felt  thy  generous  iiame  ? 
Can  dungeons,  bolts,  and  bars  confine  thee? 

Or  whips  thy  noble  spirit  tame  ? 
Too  long  the  world  has  wept,  bewailing 

That  falsehood's  dagger  tyrants  wield ; 

But  freedom  is  our  sword  and  shield, 
And  all  their  arts  are  unavailing. 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  ye  brave,  <5cc. 


3Iy  bonnie  Lass. 

By  A.  Lo:.—An\  ••  Wka  11  be  King;  but  Charlie." 

My  bonnie  lass,  now  turn  to  me, 
And  gie  a  smile  to  cheer  me, 
An  honest  heart  I  '11  gie  to  thee, 
For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 
Come,  o'er  the  heather 
We  '11  trip  together, 

All  in  the  morning  early ; 
With  heart  and  hand 
I  '11  by  thee  stand, 

For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 
Come,  o'er  the  heather 
We  '11  trip  together, 
I  heed  neither  mother 
Not  father  nor  brother  ; 
With  heart  and  hand 
I  '11  by  thee  stand, 

For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 


£* 


54  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

There  's  many  a  lass  I  love  full  well, 
And  many  who  love  me  dearly, 

But  there  's  ne'er  a  one,  except  thysel ; 
That  I  e'er  could  love  sincerely. 
Come,  o'er  the  heather,  &c. 


Here  we  meet  too  soon  to  part. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. — Air,  "  Di  tanti  palpitiuiP 

Here  Ave  meet  too  soon  to  part; 
Here  to  leave  will  raise  a  smart ; 
Here  I  '11  press  thee  to  my  heart, 

Where  none  have  place  above  thee. 

Here  I  vow  to  love  thee  well ; 
Could  but  words  unseal  the  spell, 
Had  but  language  strength  to  tell, 
I  'd  say  how  much  I  love  thee  ! 

Here  the  rose  that  decks  thy  door ; 
Here  the  thorn  that  spreads  thy  bower ; 
Here  the  willow  on  the  moor ; 

The  birds  at  rest  above  thee ; 

Had  they  light  of  life  to  see, 
Sense  of  soul,  like  thee  and  me, 
Soon  might  each  a  witness  be, 
How  dotingly  I  love  thee  ! 


I 


THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK.  55 

Comin'  through  the  live. 

If  a  body  meet  a  body  comin'  through  the 
rye, 

If  a  body  kiss  a  body,  need  a  body  cry  ? 
Ev'ry  lassie  has  her  laddie, 
Nane,  they  say,  ha'e  I ! 
Yet  a1  the  lads  they  smile  at  me, 
When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amang  the  train  there  is  a  swain, 

I  dearly  lo'e  mysel' ; 
But  whare  's  his  name,  or  what 's  his 
name, 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 

If  a  body  meet  a  body  comin'  frae  the  town, 
If  a  body  greet  a  body,  need  a  body  frown  ? 
Ev'ry  lassie  has  her  laddie, 
Nane,  they  say,  ha'e  I  ! 
Yet  aJ  the  lads  they  smile  at  me, 
'When  comin'  through  the  rye. 
Amang  the  train  there  is  a  swain 

I  dearly  lo'e  mysel' ; 
But  whare  's  his  hame,  or  what  '■  his 
name, 
I  dinna  care  to  tell. 


Love  cuts  me  up. 

Air — •'•'  Love  was  once  a  little  Boy." 

What  a  luckless  wight  am  I — 

Heigho  !  heigho  ! 
All  day  long  I  pine  and  cry — 

Height  !  heigho  ! 


56  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Once  I  plump  and  fat  was  grown, 
Now  I  'm  naught  but  skin  and  bone ; 
Love  cuts  me  up  and  cuts  me  down— 
Heigho !  heigho  ! 

My  inward  man  is  sore  decayed — 

Heigho  !  heigho  ! 

The  spirit 's  by  the  flesh  betrayed — 
Heigho  !  heigho  ! 

I  conceive — ah,  verily, 

That  I  'm  assailed  most  grievously, 

And  used  by  Ruth  most  ruthlessly — 
Heigho  !  heigho ! 

My  heart 's  by  Cupid  fiercely  smote — 

Heigho !  heigho  ! 
And  rent  in  twain  like  Joseph's  coat — 

Heigho  !  heigho  ! 
Love  has  caught  me  in  a  snare, 
Wicked  Ruth  scorns  my  despair, 
Though  fair  herself,  don't  use  me  fair- 
Heigho  !  heigho  ! 

As  young  lambkins  frisk  and  play — 
Heigho  !  heigho  ! 

Ruth  and  I  have  toiled  all  day — 

Heigho  !  heigho ! 

She  now  disdains  to  cast  one  look 

On  me — alas  !  it  is  no  joke, 

My  peace  should  be  to  pieces  broke — 
Heigho  !  heigho! 

The  joys  of  earth  I'll  bid  adieu — 

Heigho  !   heigho  ! 

Leave  Ruth  to  find  a  awain  more  true— 
Heigho  !  heigho ! 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  57 

I  '11  seek  some  shady  grove  straightway, 
And  there,  alas  !  and  lack-a-day  ! 
Beneath  some  pine  I  '11  pine  away — 
Heigho  !  heigho ! 


A  Soldier's  Gratitude. 

Whate'er  my  fate,  where'er  I  roam, 

By  sorrow  still  oppressed, 
I  '11  ne'er  forget  the  peaceful  home, 

That  gave  a  wand'rer  rest. 
Then  ever  rove  life's  sunny  banks 

By  sweetest  llow'rets  strewed, 
Still  may  you  claim  a  soldier's  thanks, 

A  soldier's  gratitude. 

The  tender  sigh,  the  balmy  tear,       v 

That  meek-eyed  pity  gave, 
My  last  expiring  hour  shall  cheer, 

And  bless  the  wand'rer's  grave. 
Then  ever  rove  life's  sunny  banks, 

By  sweetest  flow'rets  strewed, 
Still  may  you  claim  a  soldier's  thanks, 

A  soldier's  gratitude. 


The  dashing  white  Serjeant, 

If  I  had  a  beau 

For  a  soldier  who  'd  goy 

Do  you  think  I  'd  say  no  ? 

Nfc,  not  I ! 

When  his  red  coat  I 

Not  a  sigh  would  it  draw, 

But  give  him  eclat  for  his  bravery ! 


•J&  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.    . 

If  an  army  of  Amazons  e'er  came  in  play, 

As  a   dashing  white  Serjeant  I  'd  march 

March  away,  &c.  [away  ! 

When  my  soldier  was  gone, 
D'ye  think  I  'd  take  on, 
Sit  moping  forlorn  ? 
No,  not  I ! 

His  fame  my  concern, 
How  my  bosom  would  burn,  [victory. 

When  1   saw  him  return,  crowned  with 
If  an  army  of  Amazons,  &c. 


I  >ve  been  roaming, 

I  Ve  been  roaming,  I  've  been  roaming 

Where  the  meadow  dew  is  sweet, 
And  I  'm  coming,  and  I  'm  coming, 

With  its  pearls  upon  my  feet ; 
I  Ve  been  roaming,  I  've  been  roaming 

O  'er  the  rose  and  lily  fair, 
And  I  'm  coming,  and  I  'm  coming, 

With  the  blossom  in  my  hair. 
I  Ve  been  roaming,  I  've  been  roaming 

Where  the  meadow  jdew  is  sweet, 
And  I  'm  coming,  and  I  'm  coming, 

With  its  pearls  upon  my  feet. 
I  've  been  roaming,  I  've  been  roaming 

Where  the  honey-suckle  creeps, 
And  I  'm  coming,  and  I  'm  coming, 

With  its  kisses  on  my  lips. 
I  Ve  been  roaming,  I  've  been  roaming 

Over  hill  and  over  plain, 
And  I  'm  coming,  and  I  'm  coming 

To  my  bower  back  again. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  59 


We  'II  married  be. — A  Comic  Duet. 

He.   One    day,    while    working-    at    my 
plough,  Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 

I  felt,  just  here,  I  can't  tell  how ; 

Fallal  lal,  &c. 
I  turned  my  head  round,  just  to  see 
Who  V  was  I  heard,  when  there  stood 

she, 
Like  Wenus,  cont'd  out  of  the  sea. 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
She.   La  !  John,  you  flatter  now,  I  'in  sure, 

Fal  lal  lal,  Sec. 
I  looked  like  I,  and  nothing  more  ; 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
I  'd  walked  along  a  field  or  two, 
And  might  look  rosy-cheeked  or  so  : 
Besides,  I  met  a  charming  beau! 

Fallal  lal,  fcc. 
He.  I  knows  the  chap  vou  mean,  I  trow, 

Fal  lal  lal,  See. 
He  's  at  the  squire's,  here  below. 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
Be  careful,  Xan,  take  heed  in  time, 
Here 's  honest  John,  just  in  his  prime, 
If  you  '11  be  his'n,  he  '11  be  thine. 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
She.   Why  John,  you  're  sartan  well  to  do, 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
You  've  got  a  cow.  a  pier  or  two  ; 

Fa)  lal  lal.  &c. 
But  mother's  magpie  talks  to  1 — 
She  calls  me  angel  of  the  sky. 


60  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

He.  Then  mother's  magpie  tells  a  lie. 

Fa]  lal  lal,  &c. 
She.  Tells  lies !   the  bird   does  no  such 
things —  Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 

For  I  'm  an  angel — 
He.  Where  's  your  wings  ? 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 
She.  That  gemman,  sir,  all  sweet  perfume, 
Said,  "  Oh !   you  goddess  from  the 
moon!" 
He.  He  meant  a  witch  upon  a  broom. 

Fal  lal  lal,  &e. 
She.  Well,  time  will    show,   and,   John, 
you  '11  find.  Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 

He.  You  'd  best  take  me,  Nan,  in  the 
mind.  Fal,lal  lal,  &c. 

She.  Wi'  all  my  heart,  next  Sunday. 
He.  Done. 

We  '11  married  be,  as  sure  as  fun. 
She.  And  then,  John — 
He.  You  and  I  '11  be  one. 

Fal  lal  lal,  &c. 

Both.  So  j       ?\     I  who'd  wish  to  happy  be, 

Just  copy  j  gonest  John  }  and  ™' 

But  to  old  Nick  send  jealousy. 

Fal  lal  lal  &c. 


The  Cobbler. 

A.  cobbler  I  am,  and  my  name  is  Dick 

Awl; 
1  'm  a  bit  of  a  beast,  for  I  live  in  a  stall, 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  61 

With  an   ugly  old  wife,  and  a  tortoise- 
shell  cat ; 
I  mends  boots  and  shoes  with  a  rat-a-tat-ta.. 

Tol  de  rol. 

This  morning,  at  breakfast  on  bacon  and 

spinnage, 
Says  I  to  my  wife,  I  'm  going  to  Greenwich 
Says  she,  Dicky  Awl,  ay,  and  I  will  go  too 
Says  I,  Mrs.  Awl,  I  '11  be  d— d  if  you  do. 

Tol  de  rol. 

One  word  bred  another — a  shocking  mis- 
hap ! 

She  gave  me  the  lie,  and  I  gave  her  the 
strap  ; 

To  tarry  at  home  then  I  thought  it  a  sin, 

So  I  bolted  out — but  I  bolted  her  in. 

Tol  de  rol. 

To  Greenwich,  by  water,  I  merrily  sped, 
And  saw  them  all  rolling  it,  heels  overhead. 
The  sun  was  so  bright,  and  so  high  the 

wind  blew, 
I  spied — what  I  don't  choose  to  mention  to 

you.  Tol  de  rol. 

But  when  I  got  home,  (it  is  true,  on  my  life,) 
Bill  Button,  the  tailor,  was  off  with  my  wife. 
Tho'  old,  Mrs.  Awl  has  no  fancy  foj  bolts  ; 
She  has  but  one  tooth,  but  that  tooth  was 
a  colt's.  Tol  dc  rol. 

Ah,  Sally,  my  love  !  't  was  a  very  bad  plan 
To  cut  me,  and  choose  the  ninth  part  of  a 
man  ! 

6 


62  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

She  thought,  in  eloping  so  cunning  and 

tricky, 
With  poor  Dicky  Aid  it  would  soon  be  all 

Dicky.  Tol  de  rol. 

If  Bill  and  my  rib  should  get  into  a  fray, 
He  may  sell  her  at  auction  the  next  mar- 
ket day  ; 
If  nobody  bids  for  the  sweet  pretty  elf, 
Knock  her  down,  my  dear  Bill,  and  keep 
her  yourself.  Tol  de  rol. 


Wham  be  King  but  Charlie. 

•^  By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

There  's  news  from  Moidart  cam'  yes- 
treen, 
Will  soon  gar  mony  ferlie  ; 
For  ships  o'  war  hae  just  come  in, 
An'  landed  royal  Charlie. 
Come  thro'  the  heather,  come  around  him 
gather, 
Ye  're  a'  the  welcomer  early ; 
Around  him  cling  wi'  a'  your  kin, 
For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie. 
Come  thro'  the  heather,  around  him  ga- 
ther, 
Come  Ronald,  come  Donald,  come  a' 
thegither, 
An'  crown  your  rightfu'  lawfu'  king; 
For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie. 

Tl.e  highland  clans,  wi'  sword  in  hand, 
Frae  John  o'  Groats  to  Airly, 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  63 

Hae  to  a  man  declared  to  stand 
Or  fa'  wi'  royal  Charlie. 

Come  thro'  the  heather,  6cc. 

The  lowlands  a',  both  great  and  sma\ 
\YT  mony  a  lord  an'  laird,  hae 

Declared  for  Scotia's  king  an'  law, 
An'  speir  ye  wha  but  Charlie. 
Come  thro'  the  heather,  &c. 

There  's  ne'er  a  lass  in  a'  the  land, 
But  vows  baitli  late  an'  early, 

To  man  she  '11  ne'er  gie  heart  or  hand 
Wha'  wadna  fecht  for  Charlie. 
Come  thro'  the  heather,  &:c. 

Then  here  's  a  health  to  Charlie's  cause, 
An'  be  't  complete  an'  early ; 

His  very  name  our  heart's-blood  warms, 
To  arms  for  royal  Charlie. 

Come  thro'  the  heather,  &c. 


May  Morn  Song. — By  Matherwood. 

The  gran  ifl  wet  with  shining  dews. 
Their  silver  bells  hang  on  each  tree, 

While  bursting  flower  and  opening  bud 
Breathe  incense  forth  unceasingly  ; 

The  mavis  pipes  in  greenwood  shaw, 
The  throstle  glads  the  spreading  thorn, 

And  cheerily  the  blithesome  lark- 
Salutes  the  rosy  face  of  morn. 
'T  is  early  prime  ; 

And  hark  !  hark  !  hark  ! 


64  THE  NEW  SONti  BOOK. 

His  merry  chime 
Chirrups  the  lark : 
Chirrup  !  chirrup !  he  heralds  in 
The  joyful  sun  with  matin  hymn. 

Come,  come,  my  love  !  the  May-dews  shake 

In  pailfuls  from  each  drooping  bough, 
They  '11  give  fresh  lustre  to  the  bloom 

That  breaks  upon  the  young  cheek  now : 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  o'er  waste  and  wood, 

Aurora's  smiles  are  beaming  free  ; 
With  earth  it  seems  a  brave  holiday 
In  heaven  it  looks  high  jubilee. 
And  it  is  right, 

For  mark  !  love,  marl: ! 
How,  bathed  in  light, 
Chirrups  the  lark. 
Chirrup  !  chirrup  !  he  upward  flies, 
Like  holy  thoughts  to  cloudless  skies. 

They  lack  all  heart  who  cannot  feel 

The  voice  of  heaven  within  them  thrill, 
In  summer  morn,  when,  mounting  high, 

This  nierry  minstrel  sings  his  rill. 
Now  let  us  seek  yon  bushy  dell, 

Where  brightest  flowers  choose  to  be, 
And  where  its  clear  stream  murmurs  on, 
Meet  type  of  our  love's  purity . 
No  witness  there, 

And  o'er  us,  hark  ! 
High  in  the  air 

Chirrups  the  lark : 
Chirrup  !  chirrup  !  away  soars  he, 
Bearing  tc  heaven  my  vows  to  thee! 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  65 


The  Time  I  >ve  lost  in  wooing. 

Air — '•'  Peas  upon  a  Trencher." 

The  time  I  Ve  lost  in  wooing, 
In  watching  and  pursuing 

The  light  that  lies 

In  woman's  eyes, 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Though  wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
I  scorned  the  lore  she  brought  me ; 

^Iy  only  books 

Were  woman's  looks, 
And  folly  's  all  they  've  taught  me. 

Her  smile,  when  Beauty  granted, 
Hung  with  gaze  enchanted, 
Like  him,  the  sprite, 
Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that 's  haunted. 
Like  him,  too,  Beauty  won  me, 
But  while  her  eyos  were  on  me, 
E 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  66 

If  hence  their  ray 
Was  turned  away, 
Oh  !  winds  could  not  outiun  me. 

And  are  those  follies  going? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing  ? 
No — vain   alas  !  th'  endeavor 
From  bonds  so  sweet  to  sever : 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever  ! 


John  Brown's  Ghost.— By  T.  Hood, 

In  Middle  row  some  years  ago 

There  lived  a  Mr.  Brown, 
And  many  folks  considered  him 

The  stoutest  man  in  town. 

But  brown  and  stout  will  both  wear  out : 

One  Friday  he  died  hard, 
And  left  a  widowed  wife  to  mourn, 

At  twenty  pence  a  yard. 
But  widow  B.  in  two  short  months, 

Thought  mourning  quite  a  tax; 
And  wished,  like  Mr.  Wilberforce, 

To  manumit  her  blacks. 
With  Mr.  Street  she  soon  was  sweet ; 

The  thing  thus  came  about : 
She  asked  him  in  at  home,  and  then 

At  church  he  asked  her  out ! 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  67 

Assurance  such  as  this,  the  man 

In  ashes  could  not  stand; 
So  like  a  phoenix  he  rose  up 

Against  the  Hand  in  Hand. 

One  dreary  night  the  angry  sprite 
Appeared  before  her  view  ; 

It  came  a  little  after  one, 
But  she  was  after  two  ! 

"Oh  Mrs.  B.,  QMrs.  B. ! 

Are  these  your  sorrow's  deeds, 
Already  getting  up  a  flame, 
To  burn  your  widow's  weeds  ! 

"  It 's  not  so  long  since  I  have  left 

For  aye  the  mortal  scene  ; 
My  memory,  like  Rogers's, 

Should  still  be  bound  in  green. 

u  Yet  if  my  face  you  still  retrace, 
I  almost  have  a  doubt — 
I  'm  like  an  old  Forget-Me-Not, 
With  all  the  leaves  torn  out ! 

u  A  ton  of  marble  on  my  breast 

Can't  hinder  my  return  : 
Your  conduct,  ma'm,  has  set  my  blood 

A-boiling  in  my  urn  ! 

"  Remember,  oh  !  remember  how 
The  marriage-rite  did  run, — 

If  ever  we  one  flesh  should  be, 
'T  is  now,  when  I  have  none  ! 

"  And  you,  sir, — once  a  bosom  friend — 
Of  perjured  faith  convict, 


68  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

As  ghostly  toe  can  give  no  blow, 
Consider  yourself  kicked. 

"  A  hollow  voice  is  all  I  have, 

But  this  I  tell  you  plain, 
Marry  come  up ! — you  marry,  ma'm  ; 

And  I  '11  come  up  again." 

More  he  had  said,  but  chanticleer 
The  sprightly  shade  did  shock 

With  sudden  crow,  and  off  he  went 
Like  musket  at  half-cock  ! 


For  the  Fourth  of  July. 

Hail  our  country's  natal  morn  ! 
Hail  our  spreading  kindred  born ! 
Hail  thou  banner  not  yet  torn  ! 

Waving  o'er  the  free  ; 
While,  this  day,  in  festal  throng, 
Millions  swell  the  patriot  song, 
Shall  not  we  thy  notes  prolong, 

Hallowed  jubilee  ? 

Who  would  sever  Freedom's  shrine  ? 
Who  would  draw  the  invidious  line  ? 
Though  by  birth  one  spot  is  mine, 

Dear  is  all  the  rest : 
Dear  to  me  the  South's  fair  land, 
Dear  the  central  mountain  band, 
Dear  New  England's  rocky  strand, 

Dear  the  prairied  West. 

By  our  altars,  pure  and  free, 
By  our  law's  deep-rooted  tree, 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  69 

By  the  past,  dread  memory, 

By  our  Washington  ; 
By  our  common  parent-tongue, 
By  our  hopes,  bright,  buoyant,  young, 
By  the  tie  of  country,  strong, 
We  will  still  be  one. 

Fathers  !  have  ye  bled  in  vain  ? 
Ages  !  must  ye  droop  again  ? 
Maker  !  shall  we  rashly  stain 

Blessings  sent  by  thee  ? 
No  !  receive  our  solemn  vow, 
While  before  thy  throne  we  bow, 
Ever  to  maintain,  as  now, 

Union,  Liberty. 


Old  Grimes. 

Old  Grimes  is  dead,  that  good  old  man  ! 

We  ne'er  shall  see  him  more; 
He  used  to  wear  a  long  black  coat, 

All  buttoned  down  before. 

His  heart  was  open  as  the  day, 

His  feelings  all  were  true  ; 
Hib  hair  was  some  inclined  to  gray, 

He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

Whene'er  was  heard  the  voice  of  pain, 

His  heart  with  pity  burned  ; 
The  large  round  head  upon  his  cane 

Fro vi  ivory  was  turned. 

And  ever  prompt  at  pity's  call, 
He  knew  no  base  design  ; 


70  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 


His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  sma!!t 
His  nose  was  aquiline. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind, 

In  friendship  he  was  true ; 
His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind, 

His  pantaloons  were  blue. 

Unharmed,  the  sin  which  earth  pollutes 

He  passed  securely  o'er ; 
He  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots, 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest, 
Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown  ; 

He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest, 
The  stripes  went  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find, 

And  pay  it  its  desert ; 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind, 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbors  he  did  not  abuse, 

Was  sociable  and  gay ; 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes, 

And  changed  them  every  day. 

His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze, 

He  did  not  bring  to  view; 
Nor  make  a  noise  town-meeting  days, 

As  many  people  do. 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 
To  trust  in  fortune's  chances ; 

He  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 
In  easy  circumstances. 


THE   NEW  SONG  B30F.  71 

Thus  undisturbed  by  anxious  cares 

His  peaceful  moments  ran; 
And  every  body  said  he  was 

A  fine  old  gentleman. 


Old  Mrs.  Grimes. 

Old  Mrs.  Grimes  is  living  still, 

A  widow  still  is  she  ; 
She  wears  a  neat  old-fashioned  frock, 

A  neater  ne'er  can  be. 

She  's  blest  at  home,  nor  seeks  abroad 
The  scandals  of  the  town  ; 

There  's  not  enough  put  in  her  sleeves 
To  make  another  gown. 

Although  she  's  poor,  the  needy  poor's 
Hard  wants  she  will  appease ; 

Her  dress  it  never  drags  the  ground, 
Nor  sets  above  her  knees. 

She  every  Sunday  goes  to  church, 
Nor  sleeps  nor  chatters  there  ; 

Her  caps  are  of  the  plainest  kind, 
Save  one  for  Sunday's  wear. 

She  often  says  "  she  hopes  above 
To  meet  her  husband  dear ;" 

She  rents  a  cot  at  fifteen  pounds, 
And  pays  it  every  year. 

She  always  was  industrious, 

And  rises  now  betimes ; 
She  's  called  by  all  the  neighbors  round, 

11  The  good  old  Mrs.  Grimes" 


2  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

The  bright  rosy  Morning. 

The  bright  rosy  morning 
Peeps  over  the  hills, 
With  blushes  adorning 

The  meadows  and  fields; 
While  the  merry,  merry,  merry  horn 

Calls  come,  come  away  ; 
Awake  from  your  slumbers, 

And  hail  the  new  day. 

The  stag,  roused  before  us, 

Away  seems  to  fly, 
And  pants  to  the  chorus 

Of  hounds  in  full  cry. 
Then  follow,  follow,  follow,  follow 

The  musical  chase, 
Where  pleasure,  and  vigor, 

And  health  all  embrace. 

The  day's  sport,  when  over, 

Makes  blood  circle  right, 
And  gives  the  brisk  lover 

Fresh  charms  for  the  night. 
Then  let  us,  let  us  now  enjoy 

All  we  can  while  we  may  ; 
Let  love  crown  the  night,  boys, 

And  our  sports  crown  the  day. 


O,  give  me  back  my  Arab  Steed. 

As  sung  by  madam  Ftron. 

O,  give  me  back  my  Arab  steed, 
A  shield  and  falchion  bright, 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  73 

And  I  will  to  the  bottle  speed, 

To  save  him  in  the  fight. 
His  noble  crest  I  '11  proudly  wear, 

And  gird  hii  scarf  around  ; 
But  I  must  to  the  field  repair, 

For  hark  !  the  trumpets  sound  ! 
0,  give  me  back,  &C. 

0,  with  my  Arab  steed  I  '11  go, 
To  brave  th'  embattled  plain, 

Where  warriors  brave  their  valor  show, 
And  drain  each  noble  vein  ; 

His  brow,  that  oft  the  battle  braves, 
With  fadeless  laurels  crowned, 

Shall    guide    me    where    his    falchion 
waves — 

But  hark  !  the  trumpets  sound  ! 
Then  give  me  back,  &c. 


Behold  how  brightly  breaks  the  Horning, 

From  the  opera  of  u  Massaniello" 

Behold  how  brightly  breaks  the  morning ; 

Though  bleak  our  lot,  our  hearts  are 
warm  ; 
To  toil  inured,  all  danger  scorning, 

We  hail  the  breeze,  or  brave  the  storm. 
Put  off,  put  off,  our  course  we  know  ; 
Take  heed,  take  heed,  and  whisper  low  ; 
Look  out,  and  spread  your  nets  with  care  ; 
The  prey  wc  seek  we  '11  soon  ensnare. 

Away  !  though  the  tempest  darken  o'er  us, 
Yet  boldly  still  we  '11  stem  the  wave  : 
7  " 


74  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Hoist,  hoist  our  sail,  while  shines  before  us 
Hope's  beacon  light,  to  cheer  the  brave  ; 
Put  off,  put  off,  «&c. 


The  Pilgrim  Fathers, 

By  Mrs.  Hemans. —  Sung  by  G.  W.  Dixon. 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast ; 

And  the  woods,  against  a  stormy  sky, 
Their  giant  branches  tossed  ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear : — 
They  shook  the   depths   of  the    desert's 
gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storms  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods 
rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From   his  nest,  by  the   white   wave's 
foam, 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared  : 

This  was  their  welcome  home 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  75 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas  ?  the  spoils  of  war  ? 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 


Tyrolese  Evening  Hymn. 

By  Mrs.  Hemans. 

Come  to  the  sunset  tree*! 

The  day  is  past  and  gone ; 
The  woodman's  axe  lies  free. 

The  reaper's  work  is  done. 
The  .twilight  star  to  heaven, 

And  the  summer  dew  to  flowers, 
And  the  rest  to  us  is  given 

In  the  cool  refreshing  bowers. 
Come  to  the  sunset  tree,  &c. 

Sweet  is  the  hour  of  rest, 

Pleasant  the  wind's  low  sigh. 
The  gleaming  of  the  west, 

And  the  turf  whereon  we  lie, 
When  the  burden  and  the  heat 

Of  labor's  task  is  o'er, 
And  kindly  voices  greet 

The  tired  one  at  his  door. 

Come  to  the  sunset  tree,  &c. 

Yes,  tuneful  is  the  sound 

That  dwells  in  whispering  boughs ; 
Welcome  the  freshness  round, 

And  the  crale  that  fans  our  brows. 
Then,  though  the  wind  an  altered  tone 

Through  the  young  foliage  bear  ; 


76  THE  HEW  SONG   BOOK. 

Though  every  flower  of  something  gone 
A  tinge  may  wear ; 

Come  to  the  sunset  tree,  &c 


The  Braes  of  Balquhither.— By  Tannahill. 

Let  us  go,  lassie,  go 

To  the  braes  of  Balquhither, 
Where  the  blae-berries  grow 

'Mong  bonnie  Highland  heather  * 
Where  the  deer  and  the  rae, 

Lightly  bounding  together, 
Sport  the  lang  summer  day 

On  the  braes  of  Balquhither. 

I  will  twine  thee  a  bow'r, 

By  the  clear  siller  fountain, 
And  I  '11  cover  it  o'er 

Wi'  the  flow'rs  o'  the  mountain 
I  will  range  through  the  wilds, 

And  the  deep  glens  sae  dreary, 
And  return  wi'  their  snoils, 

To  the  bow'r  o'  my  dearie. 

When  the  rude  wintry  win' 

Idly  raves  round  our  dwelling, 
And  the  roar  of  the  linn 

On  the  night  breeze  is  swelling 
So  merrily  we  '11  sing 

As  the  storm  rattles  o'er  us, 
Till  the  dear  sheeliiw  ring 

Wi'  the  light  lilting  chorus. 

Now  the  summer  is  in  prime, 
Wi'  the  (low'rs  richly  blooming, 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  77 

And  the  wild  mountain  thyme 
A'  the  moorland  perfuming  ! 

To  our  dear  native  scenes 
Let  us  journey  together, 

Where  glad  innocence  reigns 
'Mong  the  braes  of  Balquhither. 


Oh,  merry  row. 

Oh  !  merry  row  !  oh  !  mery  row 

The  bonnie,  bonnie,  bonnie  bark ! 
Bring  back  my  love  to  calm  my  wo, 

Before  the  night  grows  dark. 
My  Donald  wears  a  bonnet  blue, 

A  bonnet  blue,  a  bonnet  blue, 
A  snow-white  rose  upon  it  too  ; 

A  Highland  lad  is  he. 
Then  merry  row,  oh  !  merry  row 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bark  ; 
Oh !  merry  row  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bark, 

And  bring  him  safe  to  me  ! 

As  on  the  pebbly  beach  I  strayed, 

Where  rocks  and  shoals  prevail, 
I  thus  o'erheard  a  Lowland  maid 

Her  absent  love  bewail. 
A  storm  arose — the  waves  ran  high, 

The  waves  ran  high,  the  waves  ran  high, 
And  dark  and  murky  was  the  sky ; 

The  wind  did  loudly  roar. 
But  they  merry  rowed  the  bonnie  bark, 

The  bonnie  bark,  the  bonnie  bark, 
They  merry  rowed  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bark, 

And  brought  her  love  on  shore. 
7# 


78  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Nothing  like  Snuff. 

Air — "Home,  sweet  Home." 

In  this  life  there  is  joy,  in  this  life  there 

is  care, 
And  each  mortal  that  lives  must  of  both 

have  a  share  ; 
But  our  cares  were  too  great,  and  our  joys 

not  enough, 
If  wanting  the  zest  we  derive  from  gcod 
snufT. 
Snuff!  snuff!  good  black  snuff! 
There  's  no  snuff  like  black  snuff! 
There  's  nothing  like  snuff — atchee  ! 

Then  grant  me  good   snuff,  there   I  taste 
no  alloy, 

For  it  cannot,  like  wine,  our  reason  de- 
stroy ; 

Oh  !  this  sensitive  nose  must  be  callous 
enough, 

When  I  cease  to  delight  in  a  pinch  of 
good  snuff. 
Snuff!  snuff!  &c. 


THE  NEW  SONG   BOOK.  79 

The  deep,  deep  Sea.     &tng  by  Mr.  Horn. 

Oh  !  come  with  me,  my  love, 

And  our  fairy  home  shall  be 
Where  the  water  spirits  ro\e, 

In  the  deep,  deep  sea ! 
There  are  jewels  rich  and  rare, 

In  the  caverns  of  the  deep  ; 
And  to  braid  thy  raven  hair, 

Where  the  pearl  treasures  sleep. 
In  a  tiny  man-of-war, 

Thou  shalt  stem  the  ocean  wide  ; 
Or  in  a  crystal  car, 

Like  a  queen  in  all  her  pride. 
Oh,  come  with  me,  cScc. 

Ah  !  belie ve  that  love  may  dwell 

Where  the  coral  branches  twine ; 
And  that  every  wreathed  shell 

Breathes  a  tune  so  soft  as  thine. 
Hope,  as  fond  as  thou  would  prove, 

Truth  as  bright  as  e'er  was  told  ; 
Hearts  as  warm  as  those  above, 

Dwell  under  the  waters  cold. 

Oh,  come  with  me,  See. 


I  've  gazed  upon  thy  sunny  Smile. 
by  O.W.  Dixon. 

ling  Dream." 
I  Ve  gazed  upon  thy  sunny  smile, 

In  silent  joy  ; 
I  Ve  marked  the  rose-tint  on  thy  cheek- 
Thy  beauteous  eye. 


80  THE  NEW  SOXG  BOOK. 

I  've  seen  thy  beauty  ripen  more, 

And  stronger  glow ; 
I  saw  thee  in  thy  youthful  prime- - 

I  see  thee  now  ! 

I  've  viewed  the  early  rose,  at  morn, 

Whose  fragrant  sigh 
Breathed  sweetness  to  the  summer  air, 

And  now'rets  nigh  : 
I  looked  at  eve — alas  !  the  storm 

Had  spoiled  the  gem  ; 
Its  leaves  were  scattered — none  remained 

Upon  the  stem. 

I  've  wept  to  think  that  age  will  dim 

Thy  beaming  eye ; 
That  Iare  may  wash  from  off  thy  cheek 

The  sweetest  dye. 
To   mark   the    change  would    break   my 

If  swiftly  wrought ;  [heart, 

But  care  and  sorrow  slowly  steal 

And  damp  each  thought. 


The  Onset. 

A  Battle  Song.— Sung  by  Mr.  Wood, 

Sound  an  alarum  !     The  foe  is  come  ! 
I  hear  the  tramp, — the  neigh, — the  hum, 
The  cry,  and  the  blow  of  his  daring  drum  : 

Huzzah ! 
Sound  !  the  blast  of  our  trumpet  blown 
Shall  carry  dismay  into  hearts  of  stone. 
What !  shall  we  shake  at  a  foe  unknown  ? 

Huzzah  ! — Huzzah  ! 


THK  KBW  SONG  BOOK.  81 

Have  we  not  sinews  as  strong  as  they  ? 
Have  we  not  hearts  that  ne'er  gave  way  ? 
Have  we  no*.  God  on  our  side  to-day  ? 

lluzzah  ! 
Look  !    They  are  staggered  on  yon  black 

heath  : 
Steady  a  while,  and  hold  your  breath  ! 
Now    is    your    time,    men, — Down    like 
Death  !  lluzzah  I— lluzzah  ! 

Stand  by  each  other,  and  front  your  foes  ! 
Fight,  whilst  a  drop  of  red  blood  flows  ! 
Fight,  as  ye  fought  for  the  old  red  rose ! 

Huzzah  I 
Sound  !  bid  your  terrible  trumpets  bray  ! 
Blow,  till  their  brazen  throats  give  way  ! 
Sound  to  the  battle  !    Sound,  I  say  ! 

lluzzah  !  Huzzah  ! — 


Auld  Lang  Syne, 

Oh,  years  have  flown  since  first  we  met, 

And  sorrows  have  been  mine  ! 
I  've  often  thought,  with  fond  regret, 
On  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne ; 
We  '11  take  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

I  feit,  when  to  thy  boson,  pressed, 
That  greater  joys  were  mine, 

Than  e'er  my  youthful  heart  had  known, 
Tn  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  <*~'\ 

F 


©2  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Though  fortune  points  thy  path  of  life, 

Far,  far  away  from  mine, 
The  hour  may  be  when  next  we  meet, 

An  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 

Then  fare-thee-well ;  if  thou  art  blessed, 

Thy  friend  will  not  repine ; 
But  sometimes  give  a  kindly  thought 

To  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 


Life. — By  Barry  Cornwall. 

We  are  born  ;  we  laugh  ;  we  weep  ; 

We  love  ;  we  droop  ;  we  die  ! 
Ah  !  wherefore  do  we  laugh,  or  weep? 

Why  do  we  live,  or  die  ? 
Who  knows  that  secret  deep  ? 

Alas,  not  I  ! 

Why  doth  the  violet  spring 

Unseen  by  human  eye  ? 
Why  do  the  radiant  seasons  bring 

Sweet  thoughts  that  quickly  fly  ? 
Why  do  our  fond  hearts  cling 

To  things  that  die  ? 

We  toil, — through  pain  and  wrong  ; 

We  fight,— and  fly  ; 
We  love  ;  we  losj  ;  and  then,  ere  long, 

Stone-dead  Ave  lie. 
O  Life  !  is  all  thy  song 

"  Endure  and — die  P* 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  83 

The  Wild  Guitar. 

Air—  "  Gramachree." 

Oh,  wilt  thou  leave  thy  father's  halls, 

To  wander  forth  with  me  ? 
And  quit  those  long-loved  cherished  halls, 

When  thou  art  blest  and  free  ! 
To  seek  awhile  the  quiet  stream, 

Reflecting  every  star ; 
And  listen,  as  in  fancy's  dream, 

Unto  my  wild  guitar. 

I  cannot  boast  of  wealth  or  power, 

That  dwells  from  love  apart; 
But  if  thou  'It  share  my  simple  bower, 

I  '11  give  thee  all  my  heart. 
And  when  the  shades  of  eve  appear, 

I  '11  rove  beneath  a  star, 
And  sing  the  song  thou  lov'st  to  hear 

Unto  my  wild  guitar. 


Drink  to  3Ie  only. 

By  Ben  Johnson. —  Surg  by  Mr.  Wood. 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine  ; 

Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 
And  I  '11  not  look  for  wine. 

The  thirst  that  from  my  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  ; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sip, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 


84  THE  iNEW  SONG  BOOK. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee, 
As  giving  it  a  hope,  that  there 

It  would  not  withered  be. 

But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  send  it  back  to  me  : 
Since  then  it  grows,  and  looks,  and  smells, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee. 


To  Sigh,  yet  feel  no  Pain. 

To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain  ; 

To  weep,  yet  scarce  know  why ; 
To  sport  an  hour  with  beauty's  chain, 

Then  throw  it  idly  by  ; 
To  kneel  at  many  a  shrine, 

Yet  lay  the  heart  on  none  ; 
To  think  all  other  charms  divine, 

But  those  we  just  have  won  ; 
This  is  love — careless  love — 
Such  as  kindleth  hearts  that  rove. 

To  keep  one  sacred  flame 

Through  life,  unchilled,  unmoved  ; 
To  love  in  wintry  age  the  same 

That  first  in  youth  we  loved ; 
To  feel  that  we  adore 

To  such  refined  excess, 
That  tho'  the  heart  would  break  with  morei 

We  could  not  live  with  less  ; 
This  is  love — faithful  love, — 
Such  as  saints  might  feel  above. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  85 

Day  of  Glory, 

Sung  by  G.  W.  Dixon. — Air,  "  Scots  rvha  hae  * 

Day  of  glory,  welcome  day  ! 
Freedom's  banners  greet  thy  ray, 
See,  how  cheerfully  they  play 

With  thy  morning  breeze. 
On  the  rocks  wher^1  pilgrims  kneeled, 
On  the  heights  where  squadrons  wheeled 
When  a  tyrant's  thunder  pealed 

O'er  the  trembling  sea. 

God  of  armies  !  did  thy  "  stars 
In  their  courses"  smite  his-cars. 
Blast  his  arm,  and  wrest  his  bars 

From  the  heaving  tide  ? 
On  our  standard,  lo  !  they  burn, 
And,  when  days  like  this  return, 
Sparkle  o'er  the  soldier's  urn, 

Who  for  freedom  died. 

God  of  peace  !  whose  spirit  fills 
All  the  echoes  of  our  hills, 
-AH  the  murmurs  of  our  rills, 

Now  the  storm  is  o'er, 
O,  let  freemen  be  our  sons ; 
And  let  future  Washingtons 
Rise,  to  lead  their  valiant  ones, 

Till  there  's  war  no  more. 

By  the  patriot's  hallowed  rest, 
By  the  warrior's  gory  breast, 
Never  let  our  graves  be  pressed 
By  a  despot's  throne  : 


THE  NEW  SONG   COOK. 


By  the  pilgrims'  toils  and  cares, 
By  their  battles  and  their  prayers. 
By  their  ashes, — let  our  heirs 
Bow  to  Thee  alone. 


Hail,  Columbia. 

Hail,  Columbia  !  happy  land  ! 
Hail,  ye  heroes  !  heaven-born  band  ! 
Who    fought    and   bled    in    freedom's 
cause,  [repeat.) 
And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoyed  the  peace  your  valor  won. 
Let  independence  be  our  boast, 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost ; 
Ever  grateful  for  the  prize, 
Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies. 
Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  liberty ; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots  !  rise  once  more  ; 

Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore  ; 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand,  (re- 
peat,) 

Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 

Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earned  prize. 
While  offering  peace,  sincere  and  just. 
In  Heaven  we  place  a  manly  trust, 
That  truth  and  justice  will  prevail, 
And  every  scheme  of  bondage  fail. 
Firm,  united,  &c. 


THE  NEW  StlfG  BOOK.  87 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  fame, 

Let  Washington's  great  name 

Ring  through  the  world  with  Joud  ap- 
plause ;  {repeat.) 

Let  every  clime  to  freedom  dear, 

Listen,  with  a  joyful  ear. 

With  equal  skill  and  godlike  power, 
Ke  governed  in  the  fearful  hour 
Of  horrid  war  ;  or  guides,  with  ease, 
The  happier  times  of  honest  peace. 
Firm,  united,  &c. 

Behold  the  chief,  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands — 
The    rock    on   whi  h    the    storm    will 
beat ;  {repeat.) 
But  armed  in  virtue,  firm  and  true, 
His  hopes  are  fixed  on  Heaven  and  you. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
And  gloom  obscured  Columbia's  day 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free, 
Resolved  on  death  or  liberty. 
Firm,  united,  &:c. 


Columbian  Independence. 

By  G.  J.  Hunt.— Tune,  (:  Hail  Columbia? 

Wake,  Columbia  !  wake  the  lyre, 
Touch  the  silver  chords  with  nre  ; 
Bid  the  holy  flames  arise, 
Mounting  swiftly  to  the  skies; 
Music  sweet,  and  music  strong, 
Rouse  the  soul  with  lyric  song. 


3  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Goddess  of  this  western  clime, 
Tune  thy  notes  to  joys  sublime  ! 
Rapt  in  glory's  brightest  blaze, 
Gallant  heroes  proudly  raise, 
Shouts  of  triumph,  sounding  far, 
Louder  than  the  storm  of  war. 

Godlike  courage  won  the  day — 
Baffled  Britain  lost  her  sway  ; 

Ghastly  stood  her  trembling  king — 
Quick  he  felt  the  dreadful  sting, 
When  Columbia's  sons  had  sworn, 
"  Death  ! — or,  lo  !  a  nation 's  bom  !" 

Born — a  nation  stood  sublime, 

Virtue's  proof — the  test  of  time  ; 
England's  vassals  now  return, 
Help  their  weeping  nation  mourn  ; 

Tyranny  had  fled  our  coast ; 

Gained  one  world,  a  world  was  lost. 

British  insults  we  forgive, 
Memory  keeps  the  flame  alive  : 
May  it  ever  nobly  rise 
To  the  bright  cerulean  skies, 
Strike  Columbia's  sons  with  awe, 
Bid  them  shun  the  tiger's  paw. 

Independent,  firm  and  free, 
Blest  with  heavenly  liberty  ; — 
Smiling  o'er  our  happy  land, 
Peace,  with  all  her  lovely  band, 
Moves  triumphant  in  her  car, 
Spurns  the  bloody  field  of  w~r. 

Europe's  sons  at  death  may  smile, 
Pleased  to  share  the  battle's  toil ; — 


THK  NKW  SONG  BOOK.  89 

In  the  arms  of  smiling  peace, 
See  our  infant  world  increase  : 
Tims  we  find  a  rich  reward, 
While  with  peace  and  plenty  stored. 

Ye  fair  daughters  of  our  land, 
Join  the  circle,  hand  in  hand ; 
Touch  the  tender  melting  string, 
To  thp  music  sweetly  sing : 
Sound  the  praise  of  heroes  gone, 
Sound  the  praise  of  Washington. 

Loud  Io  paeans  rend  the  air  ; 

Freedom's  birth  with  joy  declare  : 
Sing  with  mirth,  and  sing  with  glee 
'T  is  our  sacred  jubilee; — 

Sound  the  trump  from  pole  to  pole, 

Till  old  time  shall  cease  to  roll. 


Absence. 

Days  of  absence,  sad  and  dreary. 

Clothed  in  sorrow's  dark  array ; 
Days  of  sadness,  I  am  weary, 

When  my  love  is  far  away. 
Hours  of  bliss,  ye  quickly  vanish  ! 

When  will  aught  like  thee  return? 
When  will  sighing  truly  vanish  ? 

When  this  bosom  cease  to  mourn  ? 

•ill  that  loved  vow  can  greet  me, 
Which  so  oft  has  cheered  my  ear  ; 
Not  till  those  sweet  eyes  can  meet  me, 
Telling  that  I  still  am  dear. 
8* 


90 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 


Days  of  absence  then  shall  vanish, 
Joy  shall  all  my  pain  repay, 

From  my  idle  bosom  vanish 

Gloom  but  felt  when  he  's  away. 


My  Heart  and  Lute. — By  T.  Moore 

I  give  thee  all — I  can  no  more — 

Though  poor  the  offering  be  ; 
My  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 

That  I  can  bring  to  thee. 
A  lute,  whose  gentle  song  reveals 

The  soul  of  love  full  well, 
And,  better  far,  the  heart  that  feels 

Much  more  than  lute  could  tell. 
I  give  thee  all,  &c. 

Though  love  and  song  may  fail,  alas . 

To  keep  life's  clouds  away, 
At  least  't  will  make  them  lighter  pass, 

Or  gild  them  if  they  stay. 
If  ever  care  his  discord  flings 

O'er  life's  enchanted  strain, 
Let  love  but  gently  touch  the  strings 

'T  will  all  be  sweet  again  ! 
I  give  thee  all,  &c. 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  91 

Yankee  Doodle. 

Yankee  Doodle  is  the  tune 

Americans  delight  in  ; 
'T  will  do  to  whistle,  sing-,  or  play, 
And  just  the  thing  for  righting. 
Yankee  Doodle,  boys,  huzza! 

Down  outside,  up  the  middle  ; 
Yankee  Doodle,  fa,  sol,  la, 
Trumpet,  drum,  and  fddle. 

Should  Great  Britain,  Spain,  or  France, 
Wage  war  upon  our  shore,  sir, 

We  '11  lead  them  such  a  woundy  dance, 
They  '11  find  their  toes  are  sore,  sir. 
Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

Should  a  haughty  foe  expect 

To  give  our  boys  a  caning, 
We  guess  they  '11  find  the  lads  have  larnt 

A  little  bit  of  training. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

I'  11  wager  now  a  mug  of  flip, 

And  bring  it  on  the  table, 
Put  Yankee  boys  aboard  a  ship, 

To  beat  them  they  are  able. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

Then  if  they  go  to  argufy, 

I  rather  guess  they  '11  rind  too, 

We  've  got  a  set  of  tonguey  blades, 
To  out-talk  them,  if  they  're  mind  *o. 
Vankee  Doodle,  &c. 

America  's  a  dandy  place, 
The  people  are  all  brothers ; 


92  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

And  when  one  's  got  a  pumpkin  pie, 
He  shares  it  with  the  others. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

We  work,  and  sleep,  and  pray  in  peace  ; 

By  industry  we  thrive,  sir; 
And  if  a  drone  won't  do  his  part, 

We  '11  scout  hirn  from  the  hive,  sir. 
Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

And  then  on  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 
(And  who  's  a  better  right  to  ?) 

We  eat  and  drink,  and  sing  and  play, 
And  have  a  dance  at  night  too. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

Our  girls  are  fair,  our  boys  are  tough, 
Our  old  folks  wise  and  healthy; 

And  when  we  We  every  thing  enough, 
We  count  that  we  are  wealthy. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

We  're  happy,  free,  and  well  to  do, 
And  cannot  want  for  knowledge ; 

For  almost  every  mile  or  two, 
You  find  a  school  or  college. 

Yankee  Doodle,  &c. 

The  land  we  till  is  all  our  own — 
Wiiate'er  the  price,  we  paid  it ; 
Therefore  wre  '11  fight  till  all  is  blue, 
Should  cny  dare  invade  it. 

Yankee  Doodle,  boys,  huzza ! 

Down  outside,  up  the  middle , 
Yankee  Doodle,  fa,  sol,  la, 
Trumpet,  drum,  and  fiddle. 


THE   NEW  SUNG  BOOK. 


93 


Beware  o>  bonnie  Ann. 

Ye  gallants  bright,  I  rede  ye  right, 

Beware  o'  bonnie  Ann  ; 
Her  comely  face  sae  fu'  o'  grace, 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 
Her  een  sae  bright,  like  Stars  by  night, 

Her  skin  is  like  the  swan  ; 
Sae  j imply  laced  her  genty  waist, 

That  sweetly  she  might  span. 

Youth,  grace,  and  love  attendant  move, 

And  pleasure  leads  the  van  ; 
In  a'  their  charms,  and  conquering  arms, 

They  wait  on  bonnie  Ann. 
The  captive  bands  may  chain  the  hands, 

But  love  enslaves  the  man ; 
Ye  gallants  braw,  I  rede  you  a', 

Beware  o'  bonnie  Ann. 


94  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Charlie  is  my  Darling. 

'T  was  on  a  Monday  morning, 

Right  early  in  the  year, 
When  Charlie  came  to  our  town, 
The  young  chevalier. 

O  !  Charlie  is  my  darling 

My  darling,  my  darling  ; 
0  !  Charlie  is  my  darling, 
The  young  chevalier. 

As  he  came  marching  up  the  street, 
The  pipes  played  loud  and  clear, 

And  a'  the  folk  came  running  out 
To  meet  the  chevalier. 

O  !  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

Wi'  Highland  bonnets  on  their  heads, 
And  claymores  bright  and  clear, 

They  come  to  fight  for  Scotland's  right, 
And  the  young  chevalier. 

0  !  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

They  've  left  their  bonnie  Highland  hills, 
Their  wivres  and  bairnies  dear, 

To  draw  the  sword  for  Scotland's  lord 
The  young  chevalier. 

0  !  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 

O  !  there  were  monie  beating  hearts, 
And  monie  hopes  and  fears ; 

And  monie  were  the  prayers  put  up 
For  the  young  chevalier. 

0  !  Charlie  is  my  darling,  &c. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOPl.  95 

The  Washing  Day. 

The  sky  with  clouds  was  overcast, 

The  rain  began  to  fall, 
My  wife  she  beat  the  children, 

And  raised  a  pretty  squall. 
She  bade  me,  with  a  scolding  look, 

To  get  out  of  the  way : 
The  de'il  a  bit  of  comfort 's  there, 
All  on  a  washing  day. 
For  it 's  thump,  thump,  scold,  scold,  thump, 

thump  away, 
For  the  de'il  a  bit  of  comfort 's  there,  all  on 
a  washing  day. 

My  Kate  she  is  a  bonnie  wife, 

There  's  none  so  free  from  e'il, 
Except  upon  a  washing  day, 

And  then  she  is  the  de'il : 
The  very  kittens  on  the  hearth, 

They  will  not  even  play — 
Away  they  jump,  with  many  a  thump, 

All  on  a  washing  day. 

For  it 's  thump,  thump,  &c. 

A  friend  of  mine  once  asked  me, 

How  long  Kate  had  been  dead — 
Lamenting  the  good  creature, 

And  sorry  I  was  wed 
To  such  a  scolding  vixen, 

Whilst  he  had  been  at  sea  : 
The  truth  it  was,  he  chanced  to  come 

Upon  a  washing  day, 

When  it  was  thump,  thump,  &c. 


96  THE  iNEW  SONG  BOOK. 

I  asked  him  to  come  and  dine — 

Come,  corne,  says  I,  odds  bud's, 
I  '11  no  denial  take  !  you  shall, 

Though  Kate  is  in  the  suds: 
But  what  he  had  to  dine  upon, 

In  faith  I  shall  not  say, 
But  I  '11  wager  he  '11  not  come  again 

Upon  a  washing  day. 

For  it'  s  thump,  thump,  &c. 

On  the  sad  morning,  when  I  rise 

I  make  a  fervent  prayer 
Up  to  the  gods,  that  it  may  be 

Throughout  the  day  quite  fair  ; 
That  not  a  gown  or  handkerchief 

May  in  the  ditch  be  laid — 
Oh  !  should  it  happen  so,  egad, 

I  'd  catch  a  broken  head. 

For  it 's  thump,  thump,  &c. 


The  shady  Greeenwood  Tree. 

From  the  opera  of  "  Maid  of  JudahV 

All  by  the  shady  greenwood  tree 

The  merry,  merry  archers  roam, 
Jovial,  and  bold,  and  ever  free, 

They  tread  their  woodland  home. 
Roving  beneath  the  moon's  soft  light, 

Or  in  the  thick  embow'ring  shade, 
List'ning  the  tale  with  dear  delight 

Of  a  wand'ring  sylvan  maid. 
All  by  the  shady,  &c. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  97 

3Iartial  Song. 

Sung  by  ATr.  Wood,  in  the  opera  of  "  Maid  of 

When  the  trump  of  Fame, 

Loud  sounding  freedom's  call, 
Invites,  in  freedom's  name, 

To  fight  or  bravely  fall, 
The  hero  cheerly  goes 

\\  here  madd'ning  war-shouts  rise, 
And  'mid  the  opposing  foes 

He  flies — he  flies. 
Bright  the  sword  now  gleams, 

And  banners  wave  on  high, 
Around  the  life-blood  streams. 

"Mid  cries  of — yield  or  die  ; 
Till  Victory  uprears 

Her  pennon  red  with  gore, 
And  shouts  to  patriot  ears 

That  slavery  reigns  no  more  ! 

When  the  voice  of  Love 

"  To  rescue"  calls  the  brave, 
What  heart  so  base  would  prove 

It  would  not  fly  to  save  ? 
In  bower  and  lordly  hall 

Love's  torch  doth  brightly  flame  ; 
Love  champions  finds  in  all 

Who  manhood  claim. 
Then,  shame  befal  the  knight 

Who,  false  to  honor's  laws, 
Would  shun  the  listed  fight 

In  injured  woman's  cause. 
G 


98  THE  NBW  SONG  BOOK. 

Oh !  may  he  from  the  foe 
In  battle  recreant  fly, 

And,  by  some  traitor  blow, 
Unpitied  fall  and  die. 


The  Voice  of  Her  I  love. 

How  sweet,  at  close  of  silent  eve, 

The  harp's  responsive  sound ! 
Hew  sweet  the  vows  that  ne'er  deceive, 

And  deeds  by  virtue  crowned ! 
How  sweet  to  sit  beneath  a  tree, 

In  some  delightful  grove  ! 
But,  oh  !  more  soft,  more  sweet  to  me 

The  voice  of  her  I  love. 

Whene'er  she  joins  the  village  train, 

To  hail  the  new-born  day, 
Mellifluous  notes  compose  each  strain 

Which  zephyrs  waft  away. 
The  frowns  of  fate  I  calmly  bear, 

In  humble  sphere  I  move, 
Content  and  blest  whene'er  I  hear 

The  voice  of  her  I  love. 


A  Serenade. 

Love,  art  thou  waking  or  sleeping  ? 

Shadows  with  morning  should  flee  ; 
Love,  art  thou  smiling  or  weeping  ? 

Open  thy  lattice  to  me  ! 
Sunlight  each  sorrow  beguiling, 

Youth  should  be  fearless  and  Iree  : 


THE  MBW  SONG  BOOK.  99 

Oh  !  when  all  nature  is  smiling, 
Wilt  thou  not  smile  upon  me  ? 

Think  on  our  last  blissful  meeting, — 

Sunshine  dissolving  in  tears  : 
Oh  !  when  love's  pulses  are  beating, 

Moments  are  precious  as  years  ! 
Think  on  the  hope  that,  soft  wiling, 

Lured  me  unbidden  to  thee  : 
Oh  !  when  all  nature  is  smiling, 

Wilt  thou  not  smile  upon  me  ? 

Roses,  thy  temple  once  wreathing, 

Now  on  my  bosom  lie  dead, 
In  their  pale  beauty  still  breathing 

Fragrance  of  hours  that  have  fled  ! 
Thus,  through  my  heart  sweetly  thrilling, 

Memory  whispers  to  me, 
"  Oh  !  when  all  nature  is  smiling, 

Ella  will  smile  upon  thee  !" 


The  bonnie  Lad  that >s  far  awa, 

O,  how  can  I  be  blithe  and  glad, 
Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  gay, 

When  the  bonnie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best, 
Is  o'er  the  hill  and  far  awa ! 

It's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind, 

It 's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw ; 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  e'e, 
To  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa. 

My  father  put  me  frae  the  door, 

My  friends  they  hae  disowned  me  a' 


100  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak'  my  part, 
The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

A.  pair  o'  gloves  he  gave  to  me, 

And  silken  snoods  he  gave  me  twa, 

And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 
The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

The  weary  winter  soon  will  pass, 

And  spring  will  cleed  the  birken-shaw, 

And  my  sweet  babie  will  be  born, 

And  he  '11  come  hame  that 's  far  awa. 


The  Sailor's  Lullaby.— By  Cobb. 

Peaceful  slumbering  on  the  ocean, 

Seamen  fear  no  danger  nigh  ; 
The  winds  and  waves,  in  gentle  motion, 
Soothe  them  with  their  lullaby — 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  lullaby, 
Soothe  them  with  their  lullaby. 

Is  the  wind  tempestuous  blowing, 
Still  no  danger  they  descry ; 

The  guileless  heart,  its  boon  bestowing, 
Soothes  them  with  its  lullaby. 
Lullaby,  &c. 


THE   NKW  SONG  BOOK.  101 

A  red,  red  Rose, — By  Burns. 

O,  my  luve  's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 
That 's  newly  sprang  in  June  ; 

O,  my  luve  's  like  the  melody 
That  ?s  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I ; 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry  : 

Till  a?  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear 
An'  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun  : 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve  ! 

And  fare  thee  weel.  awhile  ! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Though  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


The  Wood  Robin. 

Stay,  sweet  enchanter  of  the  grove, 
Leave  not  so  soon  thy  native  tree  ; 

O-  warble  still  thy  notes  of  love, 

"\Vhue-my  fond  heart  responds  to  thee. 

O,  warble  still  those  notes  of  love, 

While  my  fond  heart  responds  to  thee. 

Rest  thy  soft  bosom  on  the  spray, 
Till  chilly  autumn  frowns  severe  ; 

Then  charm  me  with  thy  parting  lay, 
And  I  will  answer  with  a  tear. 
9* 


102     '  THE  NEW  SONG  iiCOK. 

Then  charm  me  with  thy  parting  lay, 
And  I  will  answer  with  a  tear. 

But  soon  as  spring,  enriched  with  flowers, 
Comes   dancing  o'er   the   new-dressed 
plain, 

Return,  and  cheer  thy  natal  bowers, 
My  robin,  with  those  note  again. 

Return,  and  cheer  thy  natal  bowers, 
My  robin,  with  those  notes  again. 


Wreath  the  Bowl* 

Air — "  Noran  Kista." 

Wreath  the  bowl 

With  flow'rs  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  : 

We  '11  take  a  flight 

Tovv'rds  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 

Should  love  amid 

The  wreaths  be  hid, 
That  Joy,  th'  enchanter,  brings  us, 

No  danger  fear 

While  wine  is  near, 
We  '11  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flow'rs  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ; 

We  '11  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 


THE   NEW  SONG   BOOK.  103 

T  was  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  't  is  said, 
Their  Junos,  Joves,  Apollos  • 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too, 
The  rich  receipt 's  as  follows  : — 

Take  wine,  like  this, 

Let  looks  of  bliss 
Around  it  well  be  blended, 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream, 
And  there  's  your  nectar  splendid. 

So  wreath  the  bowl,  &c. 

Say,  why  did  Time 

His  glass,  sublime, 
Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly, 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through, 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And  smiling  thus, 
The  glass  in  two  we  'd  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  forever  ! 

Then,  wreath  the  bowl,  &c. 


The  Soldier's  Bride, — By  Fitzsimmons. 

The  moon  was  beaming  silver  bright, 
The  eye  no  cloud  could  view; 

Her  lover's  step  in  silent  night, 
Well  pleased,  the  damsel  kriw. 


104  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

At  midnight  hour, 

Beneath  the  tower, 
He  murmured  soft,  "  Oh,  nothing  fearing, 

With  your  own  true  soldier  fly, 
And  his  faithful  heart  be  cheering  : 

List !  dear,  'tis  I ; 
List !  list,  list,  love  ;  list !  dear,  't  is  I ; 
With  thine  own  true  soldier  fly." 

Then  whispered  Love,  "  Oh,  maiden  fair, 

Ere  morning  sheds  its  ray, 
Thy  lover  calls  ; — all  peril  dare, 
And  haste  to  horse  away  ! 
In  time  of  need, 
Yon  gallant  steed, 
That  champs  the  rein,  delay  reproving, 

Shall  each  peril  hear  thee  by, 
With  his  master's  charmer  roving ; 

List !  dear,  't  is  I ; 
List !  list,  list,  love ;  list  !  dear,  't  is  I ; 
With  thine  own  true  soldier  fly." 

And  now  the  gallant  soldier's  bride 

She  's  fled  her  home  afar, 
And  chance  or  joy  or  wo  betide, 
She  '11  brave  with  him  the  war  ! 
And  bless  the  hour, 
When  'neath  the  tow'r, 
He  whispered  soft,  "  Oh,  nothing  fearing, 

With  thine  own  true  soldier  fly, 
And  his  faithful  heart  be  cheering  : 

List !  dear,  'tis  I ; 
List !  list,  list,  love  ;  list !  dear,  't  is  I ; 
With  thine  own  true  soldier  fly." 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK.  105 

The  Lavender  Girl. 

Air — "  Morgiana  in  Ireland,'' 

As  the  sun  climbs  o'er  the  hills,/ 

When  the  sky-larks  sing  so  cheerily, 
I  my  little  basket  fill, 

And  trudge  along  the  village  merrily. 
Light  my  bosom,  light  my  heart, 

I  but  laugh  at  Cupid's  dart ; 
I  keep  my  mother,  myself  and  brother, 

By  trudging  along  to  sell  my  lavender. 
Lp.dies,  try  it,  come  and  buy  it, 

Come,  come,  buy  my  lavender. 

Ere  the  gentry  quit  their  beds, 

Foes  to  health,  I  'm  wisely  keeping  it  ; 
Oft  I  earn  my  daily  bread. 

And  sit  beneath  the  hedge  partaking  it. 
Ne'er  repining,  ne'er  distressed, 

Tell  me,  then,  am  not  I  blest  ? 
Tho'  not  wealthy,  I  'm  young  and  healthy, 

And  only  care  to  sell  my  lavender. 
Ladies,  try  it,  &c. 


The  Mariner's  Wife.— By  W.  J.  Jlickle. 

But  are  you  sure  the  news  i^  true  ? 

And  are  you  sure  he  's  well  ? 

Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark  ? 

Ye  lass,  fling  by  your  wheel. 

There  's  nae  luck  about  the  nouse, 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There  's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 
When  our  good  man  's  awa. 


106  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark, 
When  Colin  's  at  the  door  ? 

Gi'  me  my  cloak,  I  '11  down  the  key, 
And  see  him  come  ashore. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

Rise  up  and  mak'  a  clean  fireside, 

Put  on  the  muckle  pot ; 
Gi'  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown, 

And  Jack  his  Sunday's  coat. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

Mak'  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 
Their  stockings  white  as  snaw ; 

It 's  a'  to  pleasure  our  good  man, 
He  likes  to  see  them  braw. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

There  are  twa  hens  into  the  crip, 
I  've  fed  this  month  or  mair  ; 

Make  haste  to  throw  their  necks  about, 
That  Colin  well  may  fare. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

Bring  down  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop-satin  gown, 
And  then  gae  tell  the  bailie's  wife, 

That  Colin  's  come  to  town. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

My  Turkey  slippers  I  '11  put  on, 
My  stockings  of  pearl  blue, 

And  a'  to  pleasure  our  good  man, 
For  he  's  both  leal  and  true 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  107 

Sae  sweet  his  voice,  sae  smooth  his  tongue, 

His  breath  's  like  cauler  air, 
His  very  tread  has  music  in  't, 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 

And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  I 
I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  joy, 

An  e'en  I  'm  like  to  greet. 
There  's  nae  luck,  &c. 


Duet. — By  George  P.  DIorris,  Esq. 

William. 
The  day  is  now  dawning,  luve, 

Fled  is  the  night — 
I  go  like  the  morning,  love, 

Cheerful  and  bright. 
Then  adieu,  dearest  Ellen  ; 

When  evening  is  near, 
I  '11  visit  thy  dwelling, 

For  true  love  is  here. 
Ellen. 
Oh,  come  where  the  fountain,  love, 

Tranquilly  flows ; 
Beneath  the  green  mountain,  love, 

Seek  for  repose. 
Here  the  days  of  our  childhood, 

In  love's  golden  beam, 
'Mong  the  moss  and  the  wild  wood, 

Passed  on  like  a  dream. 
William. 
O  linger  awhile,  love. 


10s  the  new  song  book. 

Ellen. 
I  must  away. 

William. 
O  grant  me  thy  smile,  love, 
;T  is  hope's  brilliant  ray. 
With  evening  expect  me. 
Ellen. 
To  the  moment  be  true, 
And  may  angels  protect  thee — 
Both. 
Sweet  Ellen,  adieu. 
Dear  William,  adieu. 


My  Dark-Eyed  Maid.— By  II.  E.  Bishop. 

My  dark-eyed  maid  !  within  thy  bower, 
Alone  thou  'It  sit  by  moonlight  hour ; 
Thy  hand  of  snow  will  strew  the  ground 
With  balmy  leaves  and  blossoms  round ; 
And  oft  two  lips  of  flaroe  will  sigh, 
"  Forgetful  lover  !  art  thou  nigh  ?" 
Alas  !  for  hopes,  by  fate  betrayed, 
No  lover  seeks  his  dark-eyed  maid ! 

My  dark-eyed  maid  !  then  wilt  thou  weep, 
And  sigh  and  soh  thy  heart  to  sleep ! 
If  fancy  tempt  thee  with  a  dream, 
She  but  renews  thy  waking  theme  ; 
And  thou  wilt  murmur  words  of  bliss, 
And  pout  thy  lips  to  print  a  kiss  : 
Alas  !  for  dreams,  hy  fate  betrayed, 
No  lover  seeks  his  dark-eyed  maid. 


Tin  109 

Hope  told  a  Flattering  Tale, 

Hope  told  a  flattering  tale, 
That  Joy  would  soon  return  ; 

Ah,  naught  my  sighs  avail, 
For  Love  is  doomed  to  mourn. 

Ah,  where  's  the  flatterer  gone  ? 

From  me  forever  flown ; 
The  happy  dream  of  love  is  o'er, 

Life,  alas  !  can  charm  no  more. 


Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  so  nicely  bound 
By  Massachusetts  and  the  Sound, 
Rhode  Island  and  New  York  around  ; 
Where  Yankees  thick  as  hops  are  found, 
And  hasty  puddings  do  abound  ? 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that,  when  George  the  king 
Did  o'er  the  sea  his  fetters  fling, 
And  think  to  link  us  in  their  ring, 
Which  gave   the  cry,  "  there 's  no  such 

thing," 
Whose  sons  did  Yankee  Doodle  sing  ? 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  where  folks  are  said 

To  be  scrupulously  bred, 

To  be  so  steady  habited : 

Where  hearty  boys  and  girls  are  fed 

With  pumpkin  pies  and  gingerbread  ? 

Connecticut. 
10 


110  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

What  land  is  that,  where  old  time  walks 
la  steady  pace  o'er  maple  blocks  ; 
Forsakes  his  brass  for  wooden  clocks  ; 
Where   heads   too   high  will   meet  with 

knocks ; 
And  land  were  more  if  fewer  rocks  ? 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  where  onions  grow ; 
Where  maidens'  necks  are  white  as  snow; 
And  cheeks  like  roses  red,  you  know ; 
Where  jonnycakes  are  baked  from  dough 
That  land  where  milk  and  honey  flow  ? 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  whence  pedlars  come 
A  thousand  miles  or  more  from  home, 
With  tin,  with  basswood  trenchers;  some 
With  patent  nutmegs  and  new  rum  ; 
To  gather  up  the  coppers  ? — hum  ! 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  where  parsons  live, 
Where  men  hear  gospel  and  believe ; 
Where  humble  sinners  seek  reprieve ; 
Where  women  stay  at  home  and  weave, 
Nor  gad  without  their  husbands'  leave  ? 

Connecticut. 

What  land  is  that  where  I  can  trace 
My  nineteenth  cousin  by  his  face  ; 
Where  once  I  fished  for  little  dace, 
And  never  learned  the  deuce  from  ace  , 
Where  grandmother  this  night  says  grace  ? 

Connecticut. 


THE  NEW  SOVG  BOOK.  Ill 

What  land  is  that,  when  we  behold, 

And*all  its  history  unfold, 

And  all  about  the  land  is  told, 

We  like  most  things,  but  some  we  scold  ? 

Ah  !  gentle  reader,  that  is  old 

Connecticut. 


I  was  the  Boy  for  Bewitching  'em, 

I  was  the  boy  for  bewitching  'em, 

Whether  good-humored  or  coy, 
All  cried  when  I  was  beseeching  'em, 

"  Do  what  you  will  with  me,  joy." 
"  Daughters,  be  cautious  and  steady," 

Mammies  would  cry  out  for  fear, 
"  Won't  you  take  now  care  of  Teddy  ? 

Oh  !  he  's  the  devil,  my  dear  !"' 
For  I  was  the  boy,  &c. 

From  every  quarter  I  gathered  'em, 

Very  few  rivals  had  I ; 
U  I  found  any,  I  lathered  'em, 

That  made  'em  plaguily  shy. 
Pat  Mooney  toy  Shelah  once  meeting, 

I  twigged  him  beginning  his  clack; 
Says  he,  "  At  my  heart  I  've  a  beating :" 

Says  I,  "  Then  take  one  at  your  back." 
For  I  was  the  boy,  &c. 

Many  a  la^s  that  would  fly  away, 
When  other  wooers  but  spoke, 

Once  if  I  looked  her  a  die-away, 
There  was  an  end  of  the  joke. 

Beauties,  no  matter  how  cruel, 


112  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

Hundreds  of  lads  tho'  they  crossed, 
When  I  came  nigh  to  them,  jewel, 
Melted  like  mud  in  a  frost, 
For  I  was  the  boy,  &c. 


Slowly  wears  the  Day,  Love, 

By  J.  R.  Planche,  Esq. 

Slowly  wears  the  day,  love, 

When  away  from  thee, 
Scenes  before  so  gay,  love, 

Charm  no  longer  me. 
The  bow'r  that  sweetly  smiled,  love, 

Decked  with  roses  fair, 
Seems  a  desert  wild,  love, 

When  thou  art  not  there. 
My  heart  with  joy  o'erflows,  love, 

When  I  see  thee  near, 
Each  pulse  with  rapture  glows,  love, 

When  thy  voice  I  hear  ; 
In  thine  angel  smile,  love, 

Heav'n  appears  to  be, 
'T  is  as  free  from  guile,  love, 

'T  is  as  dear  to  me, 


Oh!  young  Maiden  Hearts  beware. 

By  J.  A.  Wade. 

Oh  !  young  maiden  hearts  beware, 
Of  love's  little  arts  beware  ; 
Though  I  caution,  you  suspect; 
Though  I  counsel,  you  reject; 


THE   NEW  SONG  BOOK  113 

But  soon,  and  to  your  cost, 
Your  hearts  they  will  be  lost, 
And  you  '11  think  of  my  caution, 
Beware,  oh  !  beware. 

Oh  !  young  maiden  hearts  prepare, 

For  your  pains  and  your  smarts  prepare: 

Though  I  reason,  you  may  laugh ; 

Though  I  threaten,  you  may  scoff; 

Still,  still  I  tell  you  true, 

What  weeping  yet  you  '11  do — Why  ? 

Think  of  my  caution,  leware  ! 

You  '11  think  of  my  caution,  beware  ! 


Jim  Crow. — As  sung  by  Mr.  Rice. 

Here  come  de  sassy  nigger,  and  I  want 

you  all  to  know, 
That  he  '11  wheel  about,  and  turn  about, 
and  jump  Jim  Crow. 
Chorus. 
Wheel  about,  and  turn  abou^,  and  do 

jis  so ; 
Ebery  time  I  wheel  about,  I  jump  Jim 
Crow. 

I  was  born  in  a  cane  brake,  and  cradled 

in  a  trough, 
I   swo-rn  the   Mississippi  and  cotch'd  the 

hoopjn  cough  : 
Dare  's  t\\  o  ole  sogers  whose  name  me 

nier  forget, 
One  was  massa  George  Washington,  the 

oder  Laughavi'. 
H 


114  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

When  de  war  was  ober,  and  ebery  ting 

content, 
De  people  make  George  Washington  de 

great  big  president ; 
Den- he  put  all  the  states  togeder  and  tied 

a  string  around, 
And  ven   de  string  be  broken  boys  dey 

tumble  to  de  ground. 

Ven  dey  vas  virst  set  up  dare  vas  only  a 
dosin  and  one ; 

But  now  dare  is  twenty-four  and  a  num- 
ber more  to  cum : 

Dose  twenty-four  children  belong  to  Un- 
cle Sam, 

And  hab  been  bery  dutiful,  except  now 
and  den. 

You  all  know  who  Uncle  Sam  is,  from  de 
captin  to  de  mate. 

He  's  de  fader  of  de  children  of  dese  Unit- 
ed State  ; 

He  's  got  one  sassy  daughter,  her  name  is 
Caroline, 

I  'm  fraid  he  '11  hab  to  tie  her  up  and  gib 
her  thirty-nine. 

Now  as  for  South  Carolina,  she  'd  better 

keep  her  passion  in, 
Or  else  she  '11  get  a  licking  before  she 

does  begin  : 
Den  go  ahead,  white  folks,  don't  be   so 

slow, 
Hop  ober  double  trouble,  jump  Jim  Crow. 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  115 

De  way  da  bake  de  hoe  cake  in  ole  Wer- 

ginny  neber  tire, 
Dey  put  de  cake  upon  de  foot  and  hold  de 

foot  to  de  fire. 
Who   eber  would  believe  it  dat  wore  de 

shoe  and  boot, 
Dat  Georgia  would   be  de  first  state  to 

show  de  cloven  foot ! 

I  swapt  away  my  hat  and  got  a  dollar  to 

boot, 
I  wheel'd  about  and  turn'd  about,  and  got 

a  new  suit : 
Dare  is  something  I   forget  to  tell  you, 

which  I  want  you  to  know, 
Dare  's  a  pretty  lady  here  in  lub  wid  Jim 

Crow. 

Now,  wite  folks,  wite  folks,  please  to  let 

me  go; 
I  '11  come  back  again  a  nudder  night  and 

jump  Jim  Crow. 

Chorus. 
Weell   about,   and  turn  about,  and  do 

jis  so ; 
Ebery  time  I  weell  about  I  jump  Jim 

Crow. 


Paddy  Carey's  Fortune,  or,  Irish  Pro- 
motion. 

'T  was  at  the  town  of  nate  Clogheen 
That  sergeant  Snap  met  Paddy  Carey, 


116  THE   NEW  SONG   BOOK. 

A  claner  boy  was  never  seen, 

Brisk  as  a  bee,  light  as  a  fairy  ; 
His  brawny  shoulders  four  feet  square, 

His  cheeks  like  thumping  red  potatoes, 
His  legs  would  make  a  chairman  stare, 
And  Pat  was  loved  by  all  the  ladies. 

Old  and  young,  grave  or  sad, 

Deaf  and  dumb,  dull  or  mad, 
Waddling,  twaddling,  limping,  squinting, 

Light,  brisk  and  airy, 
All  the  sweet  faces  at  Limerick  races, 
From  Mullinavat  to  Magherafelt, 
At  Paddy's  beautiful  name  would  melt ! 

And  so  wis  would  cry, 

And  look  so  shy, 
Ogh  !  Cushlamachree,  did  you  never  see 
The  jolly  boy,  the  darling  boy,  the  ladies' 

toy  ! 
Nimble-footed,  black-eyed,  rosy-cheek'd, 
Curly-headed  Paddy  Carey  ! 
Ogh,  sweet  Paddy,  beautiful  Paddy,  nate 

little,  tight  little  Paddy  Carey. 

His  heart  was  made  of  Irish  oak, 

Yet  soft  as  streams  from  sweet  Killar- 
ney; 
His   tongue   was   tipt   with   a  bit  of   the 

brogue, 
But  the  deuce  a  bit  of  the  blarney  ! 
Now  sergeant  Snap,  so  sly  and  keen, 
While    Pat   was    coaxing    duck-legg'd 
Mary, 
A  shilling  slipt  so  neat  and  clean, 

By  the  powers,  he  'listed  Paddy  Carey  ! 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  117 

Tight  and  sound,  strong"  and  light, 
Checks  so  round,  eyes  so  bright, 
Whistling,  humming,  drinking,  drumming, 
Light,  tight  and  airy. 
All  the  sweet  laces,  v_\:c. 

The  sowls  wept  loud,  the  crowd  was  great, 
When  waddling  forth  came  widow  Lea- 

Though  she  was  crippled  in  her  gait, 

Her  brawny  arms  clasped  Paddy  Carey: 
Ogh  !  Pat.  she  cried,  go  buy  the  ring, 

Here's  cash  galore,  my  darling  honey ; 
Says  Pat,  You  sow],  I  ?11  do  that  thing, 
And  clapt  his  thumb  upon  her  money ! 
Gimlet  eye,  sausage  nose, 
Pat,  so  sly,  ogle  throws, 
Leering,  titt'ring,  jeering,  fritt'ring, 
Sweet  widow  Leary. 
All  the  sweet  faces,  6cc. 

When  Pat  had  thus  his  fortune  made, 

He  pressed  the  lips  of  mistress  Leary, 
And  mounting  straight  a  large  cockade, 

In  captain's  boots  struts  Paddy  Carey ! 
He  grateful  praised  her  shape,  her  back, 

To  others  like  a  dromedary ; 
Her  eyes,  that    seemed    their  strings  to 
crack, 
Were  Cupid's  darts  to  Captain  Carey ! 
Neat  and  sweet — no  alloy, 
AU  complete — love  and  joy, 
Ranting,  roaring,  soft,  adoring, 
Dear  widow  Lea  y  ! 


IIS  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

All  the  sweet  faces  at  Limerick  races, 
From  Mullinavat  to  Magherafelt, 
At  Paddy's  promotion  sigh  and  melt ; 
The  sowls  all  cry,  as  the  groom  struts  by, 
11  Ogh,  Cushlamachree,   thou  art   lost  to 

me!" 
The  jolly  boy  !  the  darling  boy  ! 
The  ladies'  toy  !  the  widow's  joy  ! 
Long  sword  girted — neat  short  skirted — 
Head    cropt — whisker    chopp'd,    Captain 

Carey  ! 

O  !  sweet  Paddy  ! 
Beautiful  Paddy  ! 
White  feather'd — boot  leather'd — Paddy 

Carey. 


Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-White  Locks. 

By  Robert  Burns. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie  ! 
Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks, 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  O  ? 
Now  nature  deeds  the  flow'ry  lea, 
And  a'  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee, 
O  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  me, 
And  say  thou  *lt  be  my  dearie  O  ? 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie  ! 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks, 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  0  ? 

And  when  the  welcome  summer  show'r 


THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK.  119 

Has  cheered  ilk  drooping  little  flow'r, 
We  '11  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bow'r, 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie  O. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 

Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie  ! 
Wilt  then  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks, 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  0  ? 
When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray, 
The  weary  shearer's  hameward  way, 
Thro'  yellow,  waving  fields  we  '11  stray, 

And  talk  of  love,  my  dearie  0. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 

Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie  ! 
Wilt  thou  tent  wi'  me  the  flocks, 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  0  ? 
And  when  the  howling,  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest, 
Enclasped  to  my  fai  hful  breast, 

I  '11  comfort  thee   my  dearie  O. 


The  Maid  of  Erin. 

My  thoughts  delight  to  wander 

Upon  a  distant  shore, 
Where,  lovely,  fair  and  tender, 

Is  she  whom  I  adore. 
May  Heaven,  its  blessings  sparing, 

On  her  bes'ow  them  free, 
The  lovely  maid  of  Erin, 

Who  sweetly  sang  to  me. 

Had  fortune  fixed  my  station, 
In  some  some  propitious  hour, 


120  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

The  monarch  of  a  nation, 

Endowed  with  wealth  and  power, 
That  wealth  and  power  sharing 

My  peerless  queen  should  he, 
The  lovely  maid  of  Erin, 

Who  sweetly  sang  to  me. 

Although  the  restless  ocean 

May  long  between  us  roar, 
Yet  while  my  heart  has  motion, 

She  '11  lodge  within  its  core  ; 
For  artless  and  endearing, 

And  mild  and  young  is  she, 
The  lovely  maid  of  Erin, 

Who  sweetly  sang  to  me. 

When  fate  gives  intimation 

That  my  last  hour  is  nigh, 
With  placid  resignation 

I  '11  lay  me  down  and  die  ; 
Fond  hope  my  bosom  cheering, 

That  I  in  heaven  shall  see 
The  lovely  maid  of  Erin, 

Who  sweetly  sang  to  me. 


Little  Sue, 

The  shepherds  call  me  little  Sue, 
That  sports  and  frolics  round ; 

Though  rustic  pleasures  I  pursue, 
Content  with  me  is  found  ; 

They  talk  of  love  and  call  me  fair, 
And  woo»  us  lovers  woo  * 


THE  ISEW  SONG  BOOK.  121 

I  tell  the  swains  he  must  be  rare 
Who  marries  little  Sue — 

O  rare  !  0  rare  !  he  must  be  rare 
Who  marries  little  Sue. 

The  youth  who  would  my  bosom  move, 

Must  be  what  1  declare  ; 
His  actions,  not  his  words,  must  prove 

That  I  'm  his  only  care  : 
My  love  must  have  good  sense  refined, 

Have  wit  and  humor  too  ; 
The  youth  be  gentle,  brave  and  kind, 
Who  marries  little  Sue — 

0  rare  !  0  rare  !  he  must  be  rare 
Who  marries  little  Sue. 

The  youth  that  'a  formed  for  love  and  me 

Must  ne'er  ambitious  prove  ; 
Must  ne'er  find  fault,  tho'  some  should  see, 

But  all  be  peace  and  love  : 
To  merit  such  ?  noble  youth,  I  'd  every 
art  pursue  ; 
He  "11  hold  my  heart,  my  mind,  my  truth, 
Who  marries  little  Sue — 
0  rare  !  0  rare  !  he  must  be  rare 

Who  marries  little  Sue — 
0  rare  !  O  rare  !  he  must  be  rare 
Who  marries  little  Sue. 


All's  Well,— By  Dibdin. 

Deserted  by  the  waning  moon, 
When    skies   proclaim    night's    cheerless 
noon, 


122  THE  NEW  SONG  BOOK. 

On  tower,  fort,  or  tented  ground, 
The  sentry  walks  his  lonely  round, 
The  sentry  walks  his  lonely  round, 
The  sentry  walks,  &c. 

And  should  a  footstep  haply  stray 
Where  caution  marks  the  guarded  way, 
Where  caution  marks  the  guarded  way, 

The  guarded  way — 
Who  goes  there  ?     Stranger,  quickly  tell ! 
A  friend — the  word — good  night, 

All 's  well  !  all 's  well ! 

The  word — good  night — all 's  well ! 

Or,  sailing  on  the  midnight  deep, 
While  weary  messmates  soundly  sleep, 
The  careful  watch  patrols  the  deck, 
To  guard  the  ship  from  foes  or  wreck, 
To  guard  the  ship  from  foes  or  wreck, 
To  guard  the  ship,  &c. 

And  while  his  thoughts  oft  homeward  veer, 
Some  friendly  voice  salutes  his  ear, 
Some  friendly  voice  salutes  his  ear, 

Salutes  his  ear — 
What  cheer,  brother  ?  quickly  tell ! 

Above — below — good  night ; 

All 's  well !  all 's  well ! 

Above— -below — all,  all's  well. 


INDEX, 


Auld  Lang  Syne Page  25 

Amelia  Bird 36 

Away  with  melancholy 40 

A  Soldier's  Gratitude 57 

Auld  Lang  Syne 81 

Absence 89 

A  red,  red  Rose      101 

All  's  well 121 

Bay  of  Biscay,  O 15 

Bonnie  Doon 17 

Begone,  dull  Care      24 

Bruce's  Address 24 

Blue-eyed  Mary      49 

Behold  how  brightly  breaks  the  morning    ...  73 

Beware  o'  boanie  Ann 93 

Comin'  through  the  Rye 55 

Columbian  Independence 87 

Charlie  is  my  Darling •    .    94 

Connecticut      1C9 

Dame  Durdcn 33 

Drink  to  me  only 83 

Day  :>f  Glory 85 

Duet      107 

For  the  Fourth  of  July 68 


124  INDEX. 

Green  Hilla  of  Tyvol 31 

Gaily  the  Troubadour 47 

Home,  sweet  Home 34 

Hark  !  the  Goddess  Diana 37 

Hey  the  bonnie  Breast  Knots 51 

Here  we  meet  too  soon  to  part 54 

Hail,  Columbia .86 

Hope  told  a  flattering  tale 109 

I 'd  be  a  Butterfly 11 

I  could  never  cry  for  laughing 30 

I  see  them  on  their  winding  way   .  • 38 

1  've  been  roaming 58 

I  've  gazed  upon  thy  sunny  smile 79 

I  was  the  boy  for  bewitching  'em Ill 

John  Brown's  Ghost 66 

Jim  Crow 113 

Lord  Lovel  and  Nancy  Bell 20 

Love  was  once  a  little  boy 22 

Life  let  us  cherish 23 

Law  !  Law  !  Law  ! 45 

Love  cuts  me  up 55 

Life S4 

Lassie  wi' the  lint-white  locks 118 

Little  Sue 120 

March  to  the  battle  field 12 

Meet  me  by  Moonlight 35 

Marseilles  Hymn 52 

My  bonnie  Lass 53 

May  Liorn  Song 63 

My  Heart  and  Lute 90 

Martial  Song 97 

My  Dark  Eyed  Maid 108 


INDEX.  125 

Nothing  lil.e  SnufT 78 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 9 

O,  swiftly  ghdcs  the  bonny  boat 10 

Oh,  no,  we  never  mention  her 33 

Old  Grimes 70 

Old  Mrs.  Grimes 71 

O,  give  me  back  my  Arab  steed 72 

O,  merry  row 77 

OL!  young  maiden  hearts  beware 112 

Paddy  Carey's  Fortune 115 

Robin  Adair 16 

Song  of  the  Skaters 42 

Slowly  wears  the  day,  love 112 

The  Sea 7 

The  Mellow  Horn 8 

The  Pirate  Lover 13 

Tongo  Islands 18 

The  Hunters  of  Kentucky 26 

The  Minute  Gun  at  Sea .'  .  29 

'T  is  the  Last  Rose  of  Summer 32 

The  Minstrel's  Return  from  the  War 39 

The  bright,  bright  Shore 41 

'T  was  you,  sir 44 

The  bonnie  Sleigh 47 

The  dashing  white  Sergeant 57 

The  Cobbler 60 

The  time  I  ve  lost  in  wooing 65 

The  bright  rosy  morning 72 

The  Pilgrm  Fathers 74 

Tyrolese  Evening  Hymn 75 

The  braes  of  Balquhither 76 

The  deep,  deep  Sea 79 


126  INDEX. 

The  Onset 80 

The  wild  Guitar 83 

To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain 84 

The  Washing  Day 95 

The  Shady  Greenwood  Tree 96 

The  voice  of  her  I  love 98 

The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa' 99 

The  Sailor's  Lullaby 1 00 

The  Wood  Robin 101 

The  Soldier's  Bride 103 

The  Lavender  Girl 105 

The  Mariner's  Wife 105 

The  Maid  of  Erin 119 

Wake  !  lady,  wake ! 43 

Watchman 50 

We  '11  married  be 59 

Wha '11  be  King  but  Charlie 62 

Wreath  the  bow] 102 

Yankee  Doodle  91 


